


Roses in December

by garbage_dono



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Coach Katsuki Yuuri, Gen, M/M, On Hiatus, Rating will change, Slow Burn, other tags will be added, parental viktor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-10-11 11:13:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10463598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/garbage_dono/pseuds/garbage_dono
Summary: Two years after retiring from competitive figure skating, Viktor's life never strays far from the ice. Instead, he contents himself watching from the side lines as Yuri Plisetski, Russia's youngest new rising star, prepares for his senior debut. He doesn't expect things to change when Yuuri Katsuki, a young coach with a talent for choreography, offers to take Yuri on as his pupil.He doesn't expect a lot of things, but Yuuri Katsuki, he quickly learns, exceeds all expectations.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm starting another WIP because I love to suffer. :)
> 
> I guess you could consider this a canon-divergent fic, though I took some liberties with a few things. Some things are canon-compliant, others aren't. Maybe it's more accurate to just call it an AU with a few canon elements thrown in...
> 
> The rating will go up later...waaaay later...
> 
> The title is from a quote from J.M. Barrie because I'm a big cheeseball.

Skaters tended to be a superstitious bunch. Viktor would proudly be the first to admit it. Every skater had their pre-competition ritual, and some were stranger than others. Some sang as they stretched, others meditated on their music – he'd come across one skater during his competitive tenure who insisted on juggling before every routine. As for him, he could only skate his best if he'd video chatted with the dog-sitter the evening before and said goodnight to Makkachin.

Silly as it may have been, it had never let him down.

Whether it was music or meditation or lacing the left skate before the right, rituals offered a measure of control when nothing else could. So no matter how strange, Viktor never criticized another skater's ritual. He had his own, and they had their own.

Yuri Plisetski, for example, had his thrash metal.

It wasn't just in competition – those headphones followed him to the edge of the rink in practice too, something that Yakov had never cared for one bit. “ _Off,_ ” he barked. “I won't have those blasted things on the ice.”

“They're not _on_ the ice, old man,” Yuri insisted, even as he slipped them off and dropped them in a tangled heap on the bench. “Not my fault your taste in music stopped evolving in 1897.”

Viktor swore Yakov turned red all the way down to his shoulders, and probably even further when he caught Viktor snorting on a laugh behind him. “Don't encourage him!” he insisted, and he turned back to Yuri again. “If you think anyone will tolerate that attitude when you debut on the senior circuit this year, you must have your head up you own-”

“Yuuuuuuri!” The sound of Mila's skates scraping as she stopped between Yuri and Yakov didn't do much to mask Yuri's groan. She hardly seemed put off by it, or at least didn't let it show. “I thought you were never going to get on the ice. Are you finally going to let me help you with that triple salchow?”

“My salchow is _fine,_ ” Yuri huffed, skating right past her to center ice. “Probably better than yours.”

“Wanna bet?”

“Didn't I just say not to encourage him?” Yakov grunted. “Mila, your triple salchow is better than your triple lutz. I don't want you leaving this ice until your tighten up your form and land it _clean._ ”

Yuri smirked. “Yeah, tighten up your _form,_ Mila.”

“And _you,_ your attitude is going to get you nowhere. And your salchow is nowhere near competition ready. If you expect to have any quads at all in your debut routine, you'll stop mouthing off to your teammates and let Mila show you a thing or two.”

Yuri grumbled something incomprehensible, but didn't put up any more of a fight. Yakov rubbed his temples, and Viktor could practically see the headache brewing under his fingers. “Do you have to be so hard on him,” he asked quietly as he sidled up next to Yakov near the bench. He watched as Mila landed a nearly perfect triple salchow, Yuri watching intently. At least the kid was focused when it mattered.

“I was hard on you, and it worked,” Yakov told him. “Or did I imagine that Olympic gold medal undoubtedly hanging over your bed?” There was an unmistakable note of pride in his voice, and it made Viktor grin.

“No more than you imagined all the other gold medals hanging next to it,” he quipped. “The junior tournament is no joke. It's not like the senior division is going to chew him up and spit him out.”

Yakov grunted, and whether it was in agreement in frustration, Viktor couldn't tell. Maybe it was both. “It did a number on you your first time, if I remember,” he said, and his voice was quieter now. Somehow, it made Viktor uneasy. He frowned, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking back toward the ice again.

“It does remind me,” Yakov said after a moment of almost uncomfortable silence. “I need to talk to you. About Yuri.”

Viktor chuckled. “If it's about the headphones, you're better off not fighting him on it-”

“Not about the damn headphones. About-” He sighed, glancing toward the ice again before looking back at Viktor. “I've been giving it plenty of thought, Vitya. Yuri is good – probably as good as you. Maybe better.”

“You wound me.”

“I mean it. He could be a force to be reckoned with on the senior circuit, but I'm starting to think he might need someone else to help him recognize his full potential.”

Slowly, realization sank in, settling in Viktor's chest as he stared at Yakov. “You mean...a new coach? You want to find him a new coach?”

“Don't act like I'm kicking him out on the streets like an abandoned puppy, Vitya. I've been at this longer than you've been alive, and I have enough experience to know when change is necessary.” He reached into his pocket as he spoke, pulling out a folded sheet of paper that he handed to Viktor. He kept his hand extended, waiting patiently until Viktor finally relented and took it. “I've already found someone. He's coming to St. Petersburg next week to meet with Yuri and see if it's a good fit.”

“Who?” Viktor was already unfolding the paper, curiosity getting the better of him. He squinted at the name on the paper. “He's Japanese?”

“He's young,” Yakov said. “But I think it might be good for Yuri, all things considered. I've seen his choreography, and he was one of the best skaters in Japan before he retired.”

Viktor stared down at the paper. The name was familiar, but his memory was foggy. He was a skater, and a good one, from what he could remember, but he had retired early and turned to coaching instead. But why was there something else ringing in the back of his mind at the sound of that name? It felt important, but for all of his trying, he couldn't call it up from the depths of his memory.

And it all felt too sudden anyway. The urge to argue was welled up within him quickly. All he said was, “Are you sure?”

“I wouldn't have brought it up if I didn't think it was a good idea,” Yakov huffed, and he clapped his hand against Viktor's shoulder. “Like I said, he'll be here next week. You can meet him then. Nothing is set in stone yet, Vitya, but approach it with an open mind.” He made a noise that might have been a laugh. “It's taken me a long time to realize that it can make things a lot easier.”

* * *

“Yakov wants to pawn me off on some new coach.”

The conversation started three days later, and Viktor stared at him from across the living room. Yuri didn't seem angry, or even upset. He lay on the sofa with his legs propped up on the back and his head hanging off of the cushions, his hair nearly brushing the floor as he stared at Viktor upside-down. His book rested face-down on his chest, open to a page he hadn't looked at in almost half an hour.

“Told me today,” he said. “I don't get it.”

“He's not pawning you off on anybody,” Viktor insisted.

“So you did know – figures he'd tell you before me.” He sat up, clearing the messy hair from his face. “How the hell did he ever start talking to Yuuri Katsuki anyway?”

“He was one of the top figure skaters in Japan,” Viktor said, and Yuri scoffed.

“ _Was,_ ” he insisted. “And could have been a hell of a lot more if he hadn't retired at twenty-three.” He slumped back onto the sofa. “Doesn't make any sense. Why does someone that good just throw away all their potential like that?”

Viktor swore he sounded almost bitter. “At least meet him. He might surprise you.”

“Yuuri Katsuki doesn't have anything to teach me.”

“He does if you want to be able to land all your quads by the start of the season.”

“Shut up. You're not my coach.” A beat, as Yuri went back to his book again, burying his nose in the pages. “And you're not my dad either.”

Viktor sighed as he walked over from the kitchen. “I'm not trying to be,” he said smoothly as he plucked the book from Yuri's hands. “Now come on – dinner's ready.”

* * *

The following Monday, Viktor lingered at the rink, looking toward the doors every time he thought he heard them open. Half an hour went by, and then an hour, and he started to wonder if this mysterious Japanese coach was really supposed to be here today or if he'd gotten his dates mixed up.

“You're spending an awful lot of time at the rink,” Yakov said as he leaned against the barrier next to Viktor.

“I want to meet this prospective new coach. Is that so odd?”

Yakov huffed. “He's late.”

“Maybe you scared him off, Yakov,” Mila suggested. “You do have that effect on people.”

“She's right,” Viktor agreed, laughing. Yakov just kept right on frowning, true to form.

Right on cue, it seemed, the door to the rink opened, and all eyes turned toward the man standing there in the doorway. His hair tugged up into a messy ponytail, his glasses askew, and he looked like his nerves were as frayed as an old rope. Yakov waved Yuri over, but Yuri was already halfway off the ice, staring at the newcomer in what looked an awful lot like disbelief.

“You must be Yuuri Katsuki,” Viktor said with a smile, and he extended a hand. “Viktor Nikiforov. It's good to finally meet you.”

Yuuri just stared at his hand like it had grown eyes. The silence stretched on until it felt thick. “Ah!” he finally said, blinking like he'd just realized he was being talked to. He carefully managed to form a few clumsy syllables in Russian: “Sorry...English...please?”

“Poor guy doesn't speak Russian,” Mila muttered. “Pulkovo must have been _hell._ ”

“ _Mila_ -” Yakov barked. He turned to Yuuri a moment later – who seemed to be getting more and more uncomfortable by the second – and took his hand to shake it. “Yakov Feltsman. I'm glad you could come.”

Yuuri's relief was immediate, judging by the easy smile that spread across his face when heard a more familiar language. “Yuuri Katsuki,” he said. He turned to Viktor again, shyly extending his hand. “Viktor Nikiforov...I didn't realize you'd be here.”

Viktor knew that look – Yuuri was doing a damn good job of hiding it, but he'd seen it on the faces of plenty of fans. He'd almost forgotten that even after a few years of retirement, he could still leave people starstruck. “Do you want an autograph?” he offered playfully. “I've signed plenty of skates, and I don't mind doing it again.”

“Quit stealing the spotlight, Viktor,” Yuri barked. “He's not here for you.”

“You must be Yuri Plisetski,” Yuuri said with a smile. It was a nice smile – warm and welcoming, albeit a little tired. “I've seen you skate. I was really impressed.”

For a moment, Yuri looked a little like a deer staring down an oncoming car, frozen in place with his wide eyes fixed on Yuuri. Finally, he shrugged. “Would have been more impressive if Yakov had let me do more than one damn quad last season.”

“We're _not_ having this argument again,” Yakov insisted.

“Yeah, Yuri,” Mila chided. “Remember? Too many quads would have been too much for your scrawny little body to handle.”

Yuri glared. “Shut up, grandma!”

“Well, it is a good point,” Yuuri offered quietly. He took to carefully adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose when Yuri whirled around to face him again. “I mean...quadruple jumps are hard on even experienced skaters' bodies. Doing them when you're too young can really strain a person's muscles if they're still...developing...” A moment later, he added, “But I'm sure we can assess your strengths and see where you can start adding more to your program-”

“You're not my coach yet, Katsuki,” Yuri said.

“Have some manners,” Yakov muttered in Russian, bridge of his nose pinched between his fingers.

“I didn't fly all the way from Japan to not watch you skate,” Yuuri said cooly.

Silence fell again, and Viktor grinned. “Yuri,” he finally said. “He does have a point.”

“Ice,” barked Yakov. “ _Now_.”

Yuri listened without question this time, sliding a little stiffly out onto the rink. It wasn't hard to recognize the way Yuri rolled his shoulders and stretched out his neck, the way he couldn't seem to stop moving in slow, narrow laps on the ice. _Yuri,_ Viktor thought with a small smile, _It's not like you to get stage fright._

“Now,” Yuuri said, standing with his fingers laced on top of the barrier. “Show me our routine, from the junior championship this winter.”

“I don't have the music queued up.”

“You don't need it,” Yuuri said. He had an almost enigmatic little smile on his face, and it seemed to make Yuri even more uneasy somehow. “You know all the cues. Just do it the way you would if you had the music.”

“Fine,” Yuri said, shaking out his arms and getting into position. “But don't blame me if it looks ridiculous.”

He closed his eyes, placed his hands on his hips, and suddenly all of those nerves were gone.

Yuuri's eyes never left the ice, following Yuri as he glided across the rink. But while his gaze was practically glued to the younger skater, Viktor couldn't help but watch him. He'd seen Yuri's routine plenty of times – what he hadn't seen before was the intent determination in Yuuri's eyes, sparkling like he was searching for something in Yuri's movements. He barely blinked, humming softly when Yuri landed his first triple loop, and his eyes widening when Yuri went into a perfect Biellmann spin.

“A Biellmann?” he said quietly, eyebrows raised. “That takes an awful lot of flexibility.”

“Someone's showing off,” Mila sang, laughing. She leaned in closer to Viktor. “That was a camel spin in competition. Guess he got bored with it – Oh!” She flinched along with everyone else as Yuri landed awkwardly coming out of a quadruple lutz – “That was _supposed_ to be a triple,” Yakov grumbled – and slammed down on his hip and palms on the ice.

He was up a moment later, lips shaping silently around something that Viktor couldn't hear – almost definitely something profane – as he went into his step sequence. Viktor chanced a glance over at Yuuri again, finding a worried crease in his brow that eased as Yuri quickly recovered.

The step sequence was flawless, as were his last few combination jumps, and Yuri looked lighter than air as he went into his final spin and finished with his arms out. He was panting as he lowered them again, massaging his shoulder as he slid toward them. “You done staring, Katsuki?” he breathed.

“You added a rotation to that lutz,” Yuuri said plainly, seemingly deep in thought. “I would have liked to see you land it cleanly, even if it was just a triple.”

Silence fell. Viktor swore he saw Yuri's eye twitch.

A moment later, it was like Yuuri realized all at once what he'd said, like he'd been so caught up in his own thoughts that he hadn't meant to speak out loud. He held up his hands. “N-not that it wasn't impressive! It was! Your flexibility is really-”

Yuri huffed as he grabbed his skate guards from Yakov and stalked off.

“Oh...” Yuuri sighed, tangling his fingers in his own hair. “I really shouldn't have said that.”

“Just let him go,” Mila said sagely. “He's just in a mood.”

Viktor smiled at him. “She's right. Don't worry...he'll be back. In the meantime, come on – you must be exhausted after that flight. I'll get you a coffee.”

Yuuri stared at him like he'd grown a third arm – just for a moment before he blinked and nodded. “Yeah...okay. Honestly, I was going to buy some before I got here, but I...” He scratched his neck sheepishly. “Well...I couldn't read any of the signs.”

Viktor laughed more loudly than he expected.

There was a little coffee bar next door to the rink, and he paid for two before Yuuri had the chance to offer money of his own. The bills in his wallet were a messy mixture of rubles and yen anyway, so it probably saved them some time. Yuuri offered a quiet thanks as they sat, and he studied the sights around them like he couldn't quite bear to look Viktor in the eye.

“Don't let him get to you,” Viktor told him. “He's got a temper, but he's a good kid.”

Yuuri tapped on the side of his coffee cup, fingers moving in a steady rhythm. _Tap-a-tap-tap, tap-a-tap-tap._ Viktor watched them as he waited for some sort of answer, but when he didn't get one, he tried again. “Reminds me of myself at his age. I was always changing my choreography at the last minute too. Didn't make Yakov very happy then either.”

“I...didn't realize you had a kid,” Yuuri said softly. Viktor blinked at him. “I mean...I never heard anything about it. In the news, you know?”

“Well, sports news has moved on from me,” Viktor said. “And Yuri isn't my kid.”

“Oh! I-I thought-”

“I know how it looks.” He sipped his coffee. “I'm his guardian. Officially, anyway. He hardly needs it. I was recently retired, and he didn't have anywhere to go. My apartment was more than large enough to accommodate two.” He shrugged, and only then did he realize that Yuuri was staring at him, lips parted. “What?”

“Nothing! Nothing...” He went back to tapping on his cup. “It's just...you're _Viktor Nikiforov._ It's a strange thing to picture, you settling down and taking someone in like that, so suddenly.”

Oh, so it was the sudden retirement that threw him. Viktor was used to that – it was a question he'd gotten more times than he could count from reporters and fans alike. “I'd been toying with the idea of retirement for a while. Time to pass the torch, I figured.” He smiled as he studied Yuuri's face, seeing surprise fade into understanding and mixing with what looked like disappointment. That was when it clicked. “I've skated with you before,” he said.

Yuuri looked up at him. “Huh?”

“Yes, yes I remember now! Yuuri Katsuki! The Grand Prix Finals, two years ago! We were in competition together. I _knew_ your name was familiar.”

Yuuri didn't mirror his smile. Not surprising, considering that the image that had finally popped up in Viktor's memory was that of the face in front of him shrouded in shame at the kiss and cry as a downright mediocre score appeared on the screen. “Ah...yeah...that...” He picked up his coffee and stood. “We should probably get back, right? I need to talk to Yuri.”

“Oh...well, sure. We can get going. Just remember, he's a teenager, not a rabid dog. He won't bite.”

“Right,” Yuuri said softly. “Thanks for the coffee.” He headed back to the rink, drumming his fingers against the side of his cup as he went – _Tap-a-tap-tap, Tap-a-tap-tap..._

By the time they had made it through the doors of the rink again, Yuri was already back on the ice, Yakov watching him like a hawk as usual. As they looked on, Yuri landed a perfect quadruple lutz, arms extended gracefully upward. “If you insist on adding quads to your programs in the place of triples, then you'll practice them until they're pristine,” Yakov called in Russian. “Again, Yura – keep your arms straight.”

“I wasn't landing quads like that until I was twenty,” Yuuri muttered, seeming far off and distracted. “He really is a force to be reckoned with, isn't he?”

Yakov glanced back at them, nodding in their direction and waving them over to the ice. “You're back,” he said. “I'm sorry for the way Yuri stormed off. He is too, but he won't say it to your face. He's too proud...stubborn kid.”

“It's okay,” Yuuri said softly with a smile that was just as gentle as his voice. “I'm not always the best at getting my thoughts across sometimes.”

“Hmph...you have that in common with him.” He turned to the ice again and barked out in Russian: “Yura! Come to the bench!”

“ _Da,_ coach,” Yuri said with a pointed roll of his eyes, which Yakov largely ignored.

Guards on and sweat dripping from his brow, Yuri joined them on the bench. “You're back,” he said to Yuuri as he pressed a towel to the back of his neck. “Thought you'd run off back to Japan or something.”

“Just took him for some coffee,” Viktor said, grinning. “You could stand to have a bit thicker skin, Yura. A little criticism is part of getting better.”

“I can take criticism just fine,” Yuri scoffed. “Just needed some water, okay?” And after a beat, he added, a little quieter, “Never meant to offend anyone...”

“You didn't,” Yuuri assured him. “I wanted...well...I figured we ought to talk. If I'm going to be your coach, that is.”

There it was – the lingering question that was still weighing on everyone's minds. As good as Yuri seemed to wish he was at masking his emotions, he was hopeless when it came to hiding when he was anxious, at least if a person knew what to look for: the way he toyed with the hem of his shirt, the way he kept his gaze locked on anything but everyone else's eyes, the way he chewed on the inside of his bottom lip and hid behind the fringe of his own hair.

“Well,” he huffed. “Are you?”

Yuuri blinked, like the question threw him off. Honestly, had he not been expecting it? After a moment, his expression softened. “It's not just up to me,” he said. “I think we can make a good team, but I do have a few conditions.”

“Like what?”

“Well...to start off, I'd like you do your training in Hasetsu.”

“ _Japan?_ ” Yuri choked. “You want me to move to _Japan?_ ”

“Only temporarily. For the summer, to start. We can reevaluate at the beginning of the season, but for now, I think it would be easier to dedicate as much energy as I'd like to your training if we're in Hasetsu. My parents own a hot spring there where you can stay, close to a dedicated rink we can use anytime, and my old friend Minako-sensei can help develop your ballet skills.” Yuri didn't answer yet, so Yuuri added, “It's also close to the beach...it's beautiful in the summer.”

“We have beaches here...”

“ _Yuri,_ ” Yakov barked.

“Yeah, _yeah,_ ” Yuri sighed, tugging on his shirt. “Can I...can I at least think about it?”

Yakov nodded. “Take a break for now.” He was already heading for the locker room, tugging Mila along with him, and Yakov sighed. “You'll have a hell of a time convincing him.”

Yuuri hardly looked surprised.

* * *

“Japan,” Yuri groaned. “Fucking _Japan._ ”

“You have to be used to traveling by now,” Mila said. “What's the big deal?”

“This isn't _traveling._ He wants me to move.”

“Temporarily,” she pointed out, and her expression softened. “And how much would that really change things? St. Petersburg is hardly a quick afternoon drive from Moscow anyway.”

Yuri sighed, leaning against the water fountain. “That's the thing, though...I barely get to see him as it is. Living on a fucking island God knows how many kilometers away would hardly help.”

“It's like seven thousand, I think.”

“Thanks,” Yuri scoffed.

“Come on,” Mila crooned, standing and resting her arms on his shoulders. “You can't possibly try and tell me you're not positively salivating at the chance to train with _Yuuri Katsuki._ ”

“Shut up, hag.” He shrugged her off. “Sure, maybe he was a decent skater once, but he threw away his career before he won a single gold.”

“Bitter much?”

He sprayed his water bottle at her before walking off.

* * *

Two days passed.

Two days of Yuuri coming to the rink and watching quietly as Yuri ran through his drills. He always had coffee in his hand, the same order from the same place Viktor had taken him on the first day. Maybe the familiarity of it was comforting – at least he knew how to stumble his way through the order in Russian even if he couldn't read the Cyrillic on the menu.

For two days, Yuri practiced his jumps, his step technique, his core training, and Yuuri watched, always from the sidelines, like he was trying to learn by observing. Trying to learn how Yuri operated by analyzing his movements. And for two days, Yuri didn't say a word to him. He may as well have never even known he was there.

Finally, on the evening of the second day, Yuri pushed past Viktor with a towel around his neck and sweat dripping from his brow. “Oi,” he called, “Katsuki.” Yuuri turned. “It's creepy, the way you stare like that. If you want to be my coach, then coach me already.”

“I'm not your coach,” Yuuri told him. “Not yet.”

“Yeah, well...say maybe I wanted you to be. Hypothetically, at least.” He took a long gulp of water. “What would you say?”

For a moment, Yuuri seemed to turn the question over in his mind. Finally, he took a breath and spoke: “Well...your flexibility seems to be your greatest advantage. You can hold spins in positions that most male skaters couldn't manage. And your jumps are clean and precise, even the ones that need more polish.”

Yuri's eyes narrowed. “But?”

“But...you seem almost mechanical on the ice. Like your mind is in it, but your heart isn't. It's about more than technique – you have to channel your emotions into your routine.”

Yuri's fist tightened around his water bottle. “Mechanical...” he repeated, and he huffed as he crossed his arms. “So what? You think you can make me...less like a robot or something?”

“I never said you were a robot,” Yuuri said with a smile. “But yeah. I think I can.”

“Fine,” Yuri huffed.

“Fine?”

“ _Fine._ ” He tugged the towel tighter around his shoulders. “I'll go with you to Hasetsu, if you really think you can cut it as my coach.”

“Are you now?” Viktor asked, grinning, and Yuri waved him off with a familiar eye roll. “Well...suppose I should start packing hm?”

That was what made Yuuri finally look shocked. “Y-you're coming too?”

“Of course – I am his legal guardian, after all, and he's still only fifteen. That's not a problem, is it? I can pay for the room at the inn, of course.”

“S-sure,” Yuuri insisted. “Yes, absolutely.” As the shock started to wane, a smile took its place.

“Just one more question,” Viktor added. “How does your family feel about dogs?”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just for clarification, since I messed a little with peoples' ages:  
> Viktor is 29  
> Yuuri is 25  
>  ~~sarcastic little shit~~ Yuri(o) is 15
> 
> (Thank you for your feedback on the first chapter - it made my day and I'm so glad people are enjoying it so far. ^^)

It took them fifteen hours by air to get to Fukuoka and another hour and a half by train to finally wind up in the ocean-side city of Hasetsu. The smell of sea spray and the sound of seagulls calling were more than welcome when they stepped out into the misty air, and Viktor took a moment to stretch his poor, cramped legs and shake off a bit of the jet-lag. “It's so nice to be back in Japan,” he said as a distinct popping in his vertebrae brought a bit of immediate relief.

“You've never been to Japan,” Yuri countered.

“I spent a very nice layover in Fukuoka once about five years ago. It wasn't bad.” He smiled. “I had sushi.” Makkachin was busy sniffing at the ground, tail wagging madly. With a whole new country of smells to explore, Viktor couldn't blame him for being excited to be out of his carrier and free to explore.

“Whoopee, airport sushi. Such a world-traveler.” Yuri groaned as he dragged his luggage to the side of the path and promptly sat on it to stretch out his legs, bending almost in half to grasp his ankles. It looked like some strange sort of bastardized yoga pose, but Viktor wasn't about to chastise him for it. “Let's just get to the damn hotel so I can sleep.”

“It's not just a hotel, it's an  _onsen_ ,” Viktor told him.

“Whatever, just as long as there's a bed. I've never been able to sleep on planes...”

If he wasn't a smart man, Viktor would have made a clever comment about Yuri's painfully obvious fear of heights. Luckily, he was a smart enough to keep it to himself. Instead, he simply reminded him, “It's nine in the morning, you know.”

“It's _three_ in the morning back home.” He stood again and grabbed his bags. “Far as I'm concerned, that means it's time to sleep. I'll curl up on the damn floor if I have to.”

That made Viktor laugh a bit, as much as he tried to hide it – the image of Yuri curling up like a cat in a sunbeam was just too ridiculous not to, and a little adorable too. But his thought was cut off by a voice behind him, distinctly female and tinged with the same accent that Yuuri had spoken with while he'd been in Russia: “So Yuuri wasn't lying.”

They turned and saw her – tall and slender, with sleek brown hair falling loose over her shoulders. She was grinning at them, almost wildly as she approached. “I didn't believe him when he told me at first – Viktor Nikiforov! Like you jumped straight out of one of those posters of his!”

Viktor smiled. “He has posters of me?”

“Deflate your big head, Viktor,” Yuri insisted, groaning. “Oi, who are you anyway?”

“Oh, you must be the other Yuri, hm? The little Russian one.”

“Who are you calling _little?_ ”

“I'm Minako Okukawa. Friend of Yuuri's. I wanted to see his new student for myself, after how much he kept raving about your potential. But I thought for sure he was kidding when he told me _Viktor Nikiforov_ would be be here too.”

“Yeah, well, he's here,” Yuri sighed. “And we're both exhausted.”

“Don't worry – it's a short drive to the inn. Hiroko has beds all ready for both of you, and she'll want to feed you, I'm sure.”

She was right – the drive was short. After they'd piled with their luggage into her modest little car, Yuri fell asleep almost immediately, his cheek pressed against the window and Makkachin lying quietly with his head against Yuri's thigh. He really must have been as exhausted as he'd claimed, but Viktor was hardly surprised. “He's not always this rude,” he said with a small smile. “The more tired he gets, the more obnoxious he is, but I wouldn't take it to heart.”

“Please,” Minako said, waving her hand dismissively. “I can handle rude. And Yuuri warned me already.”

“Warned you?”

She laughed. “Whatever the kid said to Yuuri back in Russia, obviously it wasn't enough to make him second guess taking him on. But I'm not surprised...gold medals in the junior GPF _and_ Worlds two years in a row? And he's not even sixteen. Yuuri would have been crazy to pass up talent like that.” Viktor stared at her, but she just let a knowing little smile slip onto her face. “Yeah, I know all about the Russian Fairy, Yuri Plisetski. Yuuri is right – he might just flip the skating world on its head.”

In the back seat, Yuri drooled on his jacket.

“How long have you been looking after him anyway?” she asked Viktor, her voice softening. “Going from the most decorated skater in history to a stay-at-home dad...sure is one big career change.”

“I hardly stay at home,” Viktor chuckled. “And I'm not his dad. Just a roof over his head until he can legally rent his own apartment.”

“Noble of you,” Minako mused.

Before long – and before Yuri had gotten nearly as much sleep as he was hoping for, Viktor was sure – they made it to the inn. “Here we are,” Minako said. “The last bathhouse inn in all of Hasetsu, but it was always the best if you ask me.” She glanced back at Yuri. “Is he going to bite me if I try and wake him up?”

“He'll certainly try,” Viktor said.

He managed to escape with all his fingers still attached – just barely – and Yuri dragged himself out of the car with a yawn. “Why do you have so many damn bags?” he groaned in Russian as they hauled everything out onto the curb. “Everywhere you go it's like you pack for the end of the world.”

“I'm having most of my things shipped,” Viktor told him, and Yuri sighed and tugged his hood on, but not before Viktor got a good view of him rolling his eyes. “ _Yuuuuri,_ just get a look at this view. It's beautiful, isn't it? There are even cherry blossoms in bloom too – so authentic!”

“ _Da,_ it's gorgeous.” He still sounded half-asleep. He probably was.

Minako led them inside, and as much as Viktor yearned to document his first few hours in Hasetsu, he supposed they would have plenty of time for sight-seeing. And the inn itself was just as gorgeous as the grounds, as far as he was concerned. “Hiroko-chan!” Minako crooned, and a few moments later a stout woman with short auburn hair poked her head out from the kitchen, smiling.

The two women exchanged greetings in fast-paced Japanese, all laughter and cheer, and Yuri busied himself with his phone. Viktor wondered if this had been how Yuuri had felt when he'd first set foot in Russia, with everyone around him conversing in a language he couldn't even begin to understand. But then the smaller woman turned to him and smiled wider.

Her accent was thicker than Minako's, and her words came a little more slowly, but it didn't make them any less warm and welcoming as she said, “I'm Hiroko Katsuki. We're so happy to have you here.”

“ _Arigatou gozaimasu,_ ” Viktor said with a grin to match hers, and even if he'd butchered the pronunciation, Hiroko didn't seem to mind one bit.

After Viktor nudged his arm pointedly, Yuri finally looked up again. “Ah – um, ari...ariga...”

Hiroko seemed to take pity on Yuri and his fatigue-twisted tongue, and her smile never wavered. “You're tired, yes? Wait here – I'll get Mari.”

She was off again before Viktor could say anything else. “Mari?” he asked Minako.

“Yuuri's older sister. She usually does most of the heavy lifting.” She gestured to their bags, piled up inside the doorway. “Yuuri is down at the ice rink, getting some things ready, but he should be back before too long. In the meantime, I'm sure Hiroko wouldn't mind if I showed you guys your rooms.”

“Do you work here?” Viktor asked her.

“No, no – I probably spend enough time around here to earn some kind of pay, though, to be honest. I own a snack bar down at the rink, but these days I spend most of my days in the ballet studio.”

Yuri perked up a bit at that. “You're the ballet instructor Katsuki mentioned.”

“That's _Coach_ Katsuki to you,” Minako chimed. “But yeah, that's me. So we'll be seeing a lot of each other.” She stopped outside the door to the first room and opened it up. “So you can call me Minako-sensei from here on out, you got that?”

She was smiling, but it didn't make her seem any less serious. “Y-yeah,” Yuri said. “Right, okay.”

She stepped closer to him, leaning down so she could get to eye level. “ _Arigatou gozaimasu,_ ”she said, enunciating every syllable carefully. “If you're going to learn a little Japanese, it's a good place to start, don't you think?”

“Eh...?” Yuri blinked. “Ari... _arigatou...gozaimasu..._ ”

“Good.” She stood up straight again, nodding her approval. She glanced over at Viktor. “Yours is across the hall. Probably a little more spartan than what you're used to, but there's not a better place in Hasetsu to rest your head.”

A few long strides and a flip of her hair, and she was gone, and Viktor finally had a chance to realize just how quiet the place was. Voices drifted in from down the hall, muted by distance and a few walls between them and the source, and footsteps padded softly on the bamboo floors, but otherwise, it was almost serene.

“That Minako lady sure is weird,” Yuri sighed as he dragged himself into the room.

“I like her, and you should get used to her if she's going to be helping you get into top form before next season.”

“Whatever – I'm going to bed. Goodnight.”

The door closed between them a moment later. He didn't even wait to change out of his jeans and hoodie. For a moment, Viktor pictured him passed out face down on the floor just over the threshold, and he snorted on a laugh. He needed it though – it wasn't hard to tell that altitude hadn't been the only thing keeping him awake on the plane.

Yuri was _nervous._

Why, Viktor couldn't be sure. Starting to train with a new couch could always be nerve wracking, but he had adjusted to working with Yakov just fine, and at a much younger age. Living in a new country wasn't exactly easy either, but travel had never been enough to shake Yuri so much. No, there was something more to it, and something Viktor was sure he wouldn't get to the heart of anytime soon. At the very least not until Yuri had caught up on his sleep. He was impossible to deal with when he was deprived of it, after all, and jet lag never got any less bothersome.

Makkachin pawed at the ground by his feet, whining. “Yes, yes, Makkachin...let's take you on a proper walk, hm? I could use a little fresh air myself.”

The air was crisp and pleasantly cool as Viktor wandered the winding paths with Makkachin dragging him to sniff every bush and tree they found. It was cloudy overhead, like it had just rained or would soon, and he could hear the distant sound of seagulls crying, growing closer. After a few minutes of walking, he stopped, his feet feeling glued the ground below as he stared at the scene in front of him.

Makkachin tugged at his leash, but Viktor held tight, standing still, just watching the waves lap up on the sand. The salty smell of the sea, the sound of gulls and gently rolling water, the glints of sunlight reflecting off the sand like tiny stars... He couldn't pull his gaze away.

“It's a really nice view, huh?” That voice was familiar, and Viktor turned and found Yuuri Katsuki leaning on the railing in front of him. He was smiling, and there was a softness in it that Viktor hadn't seen before, back in Russia. He was more comfortable, more open here, like Viktor was finally seeing him where he belonged, in his element.

“Gorgeous,” he said, and the next moment Makkachin pulled the leash right from his hand, bolting toward Yuuri in a brown blur of fur and slobber. “Ah – Makkachin, _nyet!_ ” But it was too late. The dog was already jumping up against Yuuri's chest, and before he knew it, he'd pinned Yuuri to the ground.

For a moment, Yuuri looked shocked – not scared, much to Viktor's relief, but his eyes widened as he stared at the dog covering his face in wet kisses. But soon, he relaxed and started to laugh as he scratched Makkachin behind his ears, just the way he liked, like he knew right away it was just what his dog wanted.

“I wish I could say he doesn't usually do that,” Viktor sighed. “But he's always been a little overly affectionate.”

Yuuri shook his head, still laughing as he got up. “It's okay...he just looks a little familiar, is all.” He left it at that, and Viktor didn't pry. He leaned against the railing again, Makkachin sitting attentively at his feet until Yuuri reached down to pet him again. “How long have you been here?” he asked.

“An hour, if that.” He couldn't quite keep his eyes on the beach now – it was too interesting watching _Yuuri_ take in the view that he'd undoubtedly seen a thousand times before. “Did you grow up here?”

Yuuri nodded. “I guess I just never managed to leave. Not for good anyway. I trained in Detroit for a while, traveled a lot for competitions, but when all of that was over, I couldn't think of anywhere else to go but here.” There was a note of sadness in his voice, just for a moment. If Viktor hadn't been watching him as he spoke, he might have missed it. His hair almost obscured his eyes, but it was there, unmistakable – a tiny glint of regret.

Before Viktor could dwell on it long, though, Yuuri spoke again, covering it up as if it had never been there at all. “I guess you met Minako.”

“And your mother,” Viktor said. “Very hospitable.”

“She does run an inn,” Yuuri pointed out with a warm little wistful smile. “It kind of comes with the territory.” He glanced around, only then seeming to notice something – or rather someone – was missing. “Where's Yuri?”

“Sleeping.” He shrugged. “Jet lag. He can't sleep on planes, at least not well.” He was silent a moment, watching as Yuuri absently scratched Makkachin's head, almost like he didn't realize he was doing it at all. “Don't tell him I said so, but I can tell he's anxious.”

“Is he?” Yuuri looked almost surprised, but sympathetic even so. “I know it can't be easy, training in a new country. It was hard when I started in Detroit too, especially since my English wasn't nearly as good as it is now.” He pushed the hair from his face, gazing pensively at the waves. “Being in Russia reminded me a lot of that time...a new place, a different language. It's easy to feel lost.”

“So you can relate. It might help him to know that. When he wakes up at least.” He managed a small laugh. “It's more than just that, though. He has...family, back in Russia. Family he didn't quite feel right about leaving behind.”

Yuuri's brow furrowed, and Viktor could see him trying to connect the dots. He wondered if he'd said too much. “I thought he didn't...” He trailed off. Maybe Viktor's expression gave away the fact that he couldn't say anything more. “Well...I'm sure it isn't easy.”

They slipped into a silence that was surprisingly comfortable, with Makkachin panting between them until Yuuri broke it again: “I just came from the rink,” he said. “My old friend Yuuko runs it. It'll be open for us to practice whenever we need it, though we might have to share it in the afternoons with a few beginner skating classes. They've never gotten in the way before. It's kind of fun, even. It reminds people to remember the basics.”

“And I'm sure having a bit of an audience doesn't hurt at times too,” Viktor said, grinning. “Have you coached others before, Yuuri? Yakov spoke highly of you – you seemed to have a reputation.”

“Did I?” He seemed almost embarrassed. “Well...I haven't been a coach very long. I've worked with a couple people. All younger skaters making their debut on the junior circuit. They all did well, but they found other coaches when the season ended.” He was smiling, oddly enough. “I can't blame them for that. Sometimes it takes time to find what you need to be the best you can.”

“Awfully wise words coming from someone who's still so young.”

Viktor watched as Yuuri's wistful little smile turned into an almost sheepish blush. He scratched his neck. “You think? I've been told I act older than my age. I'm not sure it's always a compliment.”

“It is this time,” Viktor assured him, and as he spoke, the first few drops of rain began to fall, splattering the pavement with dark spots.

They made it back to the inn before it started in earnest, and Viktor watched from underneath the awning over the door as the clouds rolled in. He turned toward the smell of smoke, meeting the eye of a woman with her hair pushed back in a headband and a cigarette pinched between her teeth.

She said something to him in Japanese, and he suddenly felt very out of place.

Yuuri answered for him, his response just as impossible for him to understand, but he smiled as he turned to Viktor again. “My sister, Mari,” he said, and she waved at him.

“You have a lot of bags,” she said, almost stone-faced as she held her cigarette between her fingers.

Ah, _that_ Mari. “Heavy-lifting” Mari, according to Minako. She hardly seemed angry, or even put out. She eyed him carefully, gaze shifting between him and the dog whose tail was thumping loudly against the door. “I'm Viktor Ni-”

“I know who you are,” she told him. She turned to Yuuri and said something in Japanese that made his face turn bright red, and that finally got her to smile. “So easy to embarrass,” she chuckled as she blew out another puff of smoke.

* * *

Makkachin took to the whole family almost immediately, and Viktor was happy to see that nobody seemed to have any qualms about leaving him more or less to his own devices. When he wasn't excitedly tackling anyone he was a marvelously well-behaved dog, after all, content to curl up on the floor in front of the large television against the far wall. Mari seemed especially fond of him, dropping her stoic outer shell the moment Makkachin hopped in her lap. She cooed happily at him and scratched his belly, beaming when he licked her hands.

Viktor met Toshiya, who greeted him warmly despite them sharing almost no language between them. Hiroko brewed tea, which Viktor sipped graciously as he watched the rain fall outside. It was comfortable, peaceful, and he was beginning to think he might just be able to adjust to this faster than he'd thought.

Finally, after the rain had stopped in the late afternoon, Yuri emerged. His hair was a mess, his clothes hopelessly wrinkled, and he looked like he didn't quite know where he was. All signs of a very much-needed nap. “Oi, Viktor – how long have I been out?”

His Russian was slurred and lazy, and combined with the way he rubbed his eyes as he sat down beside him, it almost made the so-called Russian Punk look downright adorable. “Almost five hours,” he said. “I've made some friends while you were sleeping.”

Hiroko offered him a cup, still steaming. “Tea?”

Yuri stared at it for a moment. “You should try it,” Viktor told him. “Better than anything we have in Russia.”

Quietly, Yuri took it and brought it to his lips. He paused a moment, though, and glanced up at Hiroko again. Finally, he said, “Ah... _arigatou gozaimasu._ ”

Hiroko beamed at him. “You've been practicing,” she chimed, and Toshiya's laughter bellowed from the kitchen.

“So,” Mari said, still busy petting Makkachin as he dozed in her lap. “You're Russian Yuri?”

“Yeah.” Yuri sipped his tea, hesitantly at first, and then eagerly. “Yuri Plisetski.”

“Two Yuri's,” Mari sighed. “Too confusing.” She thought a moment, and something seemed to light up behind her eyes as she smiled. “What about Yurio?”

Yuri bristled. “That's not my name.”

“I think it works. Yurio for you-” She gestured at Yuri before moving her hand over toward her brother. “And Yuuri for you, _otouto._ ” She laughed as she spoke, but Yuri just frowned. “It's settled!”

“Nothing's settled – my name isn't Yurio.”

“I think it's rather fitting,” Viktor said, hiding behind his tea cup before Yuri could glare at him.

Yuuri cleared his throat, flinching when Yuri instead turned his glare on _him_ instead, just for a moment. “Glad to see you're awake,” he said with a placating little smile. “Viktor said you were pretty jet-lagged.”

Yuri shrugged. “Nothing I haven't dealt with before. I just don't like sleeping on planes.”

“Well, you can take the rest of the day to rest. I was expecting as much. Tomorrow, though, your training starts bright and early at the rink. The sooner we can assess your goals for the upcoming season, the better.”

There was a spark of eagerness glinting in Yuri's eyes at that. It would probably do him some good to get into a routine, at least. “Fine, I'll take whatever you want to throw at me, Katsuki.”

* * *

Viktor was exhausted by the time he settled in to sleep – the sun had barely set, but he was full of one of the best meals of his life, and the inn was quiet enough that he had been drifting off even before he'd lay down in bed. There was plenty of unpacking that still needed to be done, but it could wait. Now, though, there were questions burning in his mind and keeping him from sleep, and when his phone buzzed next to him, he couldn't help but glance at the name lighting up the screen. He answered it.

“Oh,” Chris sighed. “Bad time? You sound terrible.”

His voice must have betrayed his own exhaustion. He was hardly surprised. “No,” he insisted. “Just tired. We landed in Japan this morning. Sorry I didn't text you.”

“ _Pas de probleme,_ ” Chris crooned. “I saw your pictures. It looks like a lovely place. With an equally lovely coach for the young Yuri, hm?”

Viktor managed a smile at that. “Of course you would look him up after I mentioned him.”

“Why not? I recognized the name when you told me, and I was curious to see of he was just as cute as I remembered. He was.”

“So you remember him too.”

“Of course. We did skate on the same ice, if only briefly. Don't you?”

“I remember him coming in last,” Viktor sighed.

“Such a shame too...his form was so beautiful, but there was something weighing him down...I watched some of his other performances. He was breathtaking at the Cup of China that year.” He paused. “Seems like quite the enigma...I always wondered why he retired. A bad season is one thing, but to give up a career so young over that...”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Do try to get it out of him, would you? I'd love to sate my curiosity.”

“Just your curiosity?” Viktor joked.

Chris tutted knowingly. “You know me too well,” he sighed. “Alas, I'm much too far away to use my wiles on him. Not to mention happily married, or did you forget?”

“You never let me.” He covered his face with one arm, like the extra darkness might make it easier for him to think. It only reminded him how tired he was. “I don't understand him. He's never had a pupil for longer than a year...all juniors, as far as he's told me. I wonder how he'll handle Yuri.”

“With care, I hope,” Chris said. “I should let you sleep.”

“Mm...”

“Goodnight, Viktor. Sweet dreams, as always.”

He had no dreams to speak of, and he couldn't muster a single complaint about it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea about the logistics of transporting a dog on a train, but I got halfway through this chapter before I realized that I forgot to write him in ;A; so I had to go back and fix it. Boo on me.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait - I recently finished up my Master's degree and moved to a new city, so things have been hectic. 
> 
> Here's some Yuuri POV.

Yuuri couldn't help but feel a small swell of pride when he opened the doors of the Ice Castle rink, the familiar gleam of the fluorescent lights on the frozen surface illuminating the entire space. It was quiet this early – even moreso than usual. They'd beaten even Yuuko here, but it was hardly a problem when she'd given him a set of keys to the place years ago.

“Here it is,” he said, and he smiled as he glanced back at Yuri. “It's a public rink, but it's mostly quiet in the mornings. There aren't any classes scheduled until this afternoon.”

“Mm,” Yuri grunted, and he brushed past him to lean on the barrier, gazing out over the ice. After a few moments of silence, he asked, “You practice here huh?”

Yuuri blinked. There was something tense in the younger skater's voice that he couldn't place, but it wasn't as harsh as he'd heard before, back in Russia. “I did,” he said, and Yuri's shoulder's tightened, almost imperceptibly. “I do, still. Occasionally. It's a good way to keep in shape, at least, and to keep my skills sharp for my students.”

“Yeah, I guess you couldn't coach very well if you got fat,” Yuri quipped, looking back at him. He smirked. “Never stopped Yakov, though.”

Before Yuuri could say anything about _that,_ Yuri turned from him again, sinking onto the ground and stretching out his leg. “So,” he said, “That friend of yours, Minako-”

“Minako- _sensei,_ ” Yuuri corrected, almost instinctively, and Yuri groaned.

“Do I really have to call her that?”

Yuuri offered a placating smile. The honorifics would probably take some getting used to yet. They usually did for people who weren't used to them. “She'll go after you if you don't.”

“Am I supposed to call you Katsuki-sensei then?” Somehow, Yuuri doubted it would be easy to make that happen.

“You can,” he said. “But you don't have to. Yuuri is just fine.”

“Hmph...” He bent forward, almost in half over his outstretched legs, curling his fingers easily around the soles of his feet. “Kinda weird, calling you _my_ name.”

Yuuri chewed his lip. He was going to be a tough one after all. Then again, he didn't know what he'd expected. “Mari's idea wasn't bad,” he offered. “Yurio does have a nice ring to it.”

“That's _not my name_ ,” Yuri insisted, his words muffled against his own knees. “Don't see why I should have to change it.” Yuuri bit back the urge to tell him that it had been _his_ name about a decade before Yuri had even been born. “What if I just called you...ah, what was it? That dish named after you back at the inn?” He snickered as he switched legs. “There was a damn poster of you promoting it and everything.”

“What? Katsudon?”

“Yeah.” Yuri laughed as he sat up again, smirking fully now. “ _Katsudon._ ”

Yuuri sighed – he'd almost forgotten about that promotion, but his mother seemed determined never to let it die. It didn't bring in much more business anymore, but it made her happy at least. Still, he didn't exactly like the idea of his newest student calling him _pork cutlet bowl_ for his tenure as the young skater's coach. “Let's just...get you warmed up.”

Yuri stood. “Whatever you say, Katsudon-sensei.”

Great. Now it was sticking.

To his credit, though, he donned his skates and headed out onto the ice for a few warmup laps without having to be told twice, and Yuuri was left to wonder at just how someone so young managed to move with so much control. It was like he didn't waste a single muscle twitch – ever movement was deliberate, even as he skated around the rink, his face the picture of concentration.

For all his attitude, he didn't take it onto the ice with him. No doubt it would be back again the second he stepped off, but for now, he was in his element.

“Yurio,” he said, the nickname rolling off his tongue before he thought twice about it. This time, the younger skater groaned under his breath, but turned to face him without any more complaints. “How long have you been skating?”

He shrugged. “Made my junior Grand Prix debut when I was thirteen,” he said. “Won gold my first season.”

“I don't mean competitively,” Yuuri said, shaking his head as he stepped onto the ice, staying close to the barrier as Yurio planted himself in the middle of the rink. “I mean...when was the first time you put on a pair of skates?”

Yurio looked at him like he may as well have sprouted a second head. “No clue. Probably eight, or nine.” A beat later, he added, “Watched it all the time since earlier than that though. My _dedushka_ always had it on.”

He turned and skated farther away from where Yuuri had stopped, like he suddenly craved more distance. “Come on, let's run through some jumps already,” he insisted. “I've been on the ground too long.”

He wanted jumps, and jumps were what he got – once he was warmed up, the first thing Yuuri brought up was his lutz. “Let's start with a double,” Yuuri told him.

“A double?” Yurio scoffed. “I could land a triple _asleep._ ”

“We'll get to the triple. Just start with the double.”

“Fine.” For all his grumbling, he executed it perfectly, just as Yuuri had known he would. He was right – he could land double jumps in his sleep, even with his arms up. “You're not going to be like Yakov and try and keep me from doing quads, are you?”

“There's no reason you shouldn't be doing quads,” Yuuri said. “He told me you've been landing them for years anyway.”

“Yet you've got me doing doubles.”

“It takes two doubles to make a quad,” Yuuri told him sagely with a smile, and he caught Yurio rolling his eyes.

“You sound like a fortune cookie,” he said. “Fine – you want me to practice doubles, I'll do them two at a time.”

Yuuri knew what was coming, and he knew just as well that there was no way to stop it as Yurio built up his speed again and jumped. He got in one, two, three, three and a half rotations before slamming down on the ice, like he had back in St. Petersburg. The unmistakable sound of skin and fabric hitting ice where there should have been only sharpened metal was painfully familiar, and Yuuri was skating over to him even as Yurio righted himself.

“I'm _fine,_ ” he spat as he stood again. Soon, the only evidence that he'd fallen at all were the hint of redness in one forearm and a few stray hairs freeing themselves from his ponytail. “Just under-rotated.”

“Well, doing quads right out of the gate isn't usually the easiest way to go.” Yurio shrugged him off. “How often do you manage to land that quad?”

Yurio didn't look at him, deciding instead to focus on his skates. “About half,” he said. “Maybe a little more.” He huffed. “Yakov would say less.”

So less than half, then, Yuuri wagered. “What about your triple?”

“Ninety-nine out of a hundred,” Yurio said immediately. “Easy.”

“Fine,” Yuuri said, grinning. “A hundred triple lutzes it is.”

Yurio blinked. “What?”

“Not _today,_ obviously. But you'll do a hundred triple lutzes, and when you've landed all one hundred, you'll be ready to land the quad ninety-nine times out of a hundred too.” He couldn't help but smile as he spoke. It wasn't his first time using this tool – it had worked on his first student like a charm.

Yurio stared at him. _“What?”_

For a moment – just a moment, Yuuri felt his balance shift, his smile fading as a tiny feeling of doubt rose up in the back of his head. None of his other students had had Yurio's raw talent, but none of them had had his temper either. He wondered if all the experience he'd gained during his time with them had anything to do with what he was doing now. It sure didn't feel like it – it felt more like he was starting at square one again, as a fresh coach with more to learn than he had to teach.

“Ah...well, it's worked before,” he offered. “Let's just...try it out, okay?”

Yurio frowned as he turned and skated away again. “ _Fine._ I'll give you one-hundred triple damn lutzes.” In a blink, he got up to speed again and launched himself into the air, spinning three times before landing a perfect lutz and meeting Yuuri's eye. “ _One._ ”

* * *

“That bad huh?”

That was Minako's voice – not surprising since it was her studio, after all. With only half of the studio lights on and the sun long set, she cast an almost sinister-looking shadow across the floor as she leaned on the door frame.

“What?” he asked her.

“You know what – the little Russian punk. Did he live up to his name?” She didn't bother flipping the rest of the lights on, but did hand Yuuri a water bottle as she let the door close behind her again. “You come here when you have a lot on your mind. Here or the rink, and if the rink _is_ what's on your mind, it makes sense you wouldn't go there.”

He sighed. She had even more of an eye for his mood than his own mother did sometimes. More than Mari, even. Maybe better than he had himself. “I don't have much experience coaching,” he said on the edge of a nervous little laugh.

“The most experienced coach in the world would probably have trouble with that kid,” she told him. “That's not your fault.”

Translation: _No self-deprecation in my studio._ It was a message he'd gotten from her plenty of times before, and one he'd tried his best to take to heart. Succeeding at it...that was something that he still needed to work on. But the attempt was the important thing.

He stretched his arms, tightened his core, kept his eyes on the mirror as he practiced his ballet exercises and Minako walked across the room toward him. Her hands rested on his shoulders. “Don't get sloppy, Yuuri,” she told him fondly.

His form improved exponentially with her there, just like it always had compared to when he practiced alone. Even after so many years and the end of his professional skating career, ballet had served as a creative outlet, a place where he could improve himself and make himself stronger without having to worry if he was good enough to teach his students.

That was Minako's job, and he was thankful for it. She was the best in Hasetsu, after all.

“He seems like a pain,” she told him, sighing. She'd been watching him for almost twenty minutes now, adjusting his form and nodding her approval in comfortable silence. “That Yuri _Plisetski._ ” The name caught awkwardly in her mouth, the Russian pronunciation clunky and unfamiliar to her Japanese tongue. “I don't get why you bothered taking him on. You must have the patience of a saint. Or the patience of your mother.”

He laughed quietly. He doubted he'd ever measure up to his own mother when it came to patience. “You saw the recordings of his Junior World Championship,” he said as he straightened enough to take a swig of his water. “He's good.”

“Lots of people are _good._ Most of them aren't so obnoxious.”

“He's fifteen.”

“You weren't that bad at fifteen. Viktor Nikiforov wasn't that bad when he debuted in Juniors either.”

Yuuri hid behind his water bottle. “This has nothing to do with Viktor Nikiforov.”

“Oh, doesn't it?” He knew that smile of hers, as well as the playful edge in her voice. “What, you think I've forgotten all those posters you had in your room when you were younger? I think they're in storage in some dusty hidden corner of the inn. Your mother just couldn't bring herself to throw them out.”

“I-I just can't stand bare walls,” Yuuri stammered, as if Minako couldn't see straight through him. He could tell that much from the knowing little smile.

It had just been a crush. Nothing more. Certainly nothing that would get in the way of his training Yuri Plisetski.

He'd been no different than all of Russia, or the rest of the world – Viktor had made everyone fall in love with him every time he'd stepped on the ice. Yuuri had wanted him, had wanted to _be_ him, had wanted more than anything to skate on the same ice as him.

And well, he had. And look how that had turned out.

“Yuuri...” That was Minako's voice, softer now and closer than before. He looked over at her just as she pressed her lips into a firm line and insisted, “Again.”

She took him through his usual routine once, twice, three times more, and by the time he stopped to rest and drain his water bottle, he was red in the face and panting. She seemed satisfied, and his mind was clearer. That was the important thing. He leaned against the railing by the mirror and let the sweat roll down his burning face.

“...so this is the studio,” someone was saying on the other side of the room. “Yuuri mentioned it. Good to see you again, Minako-sensei.”

There were only two people in Hasetsu now that spoke in that heavily accented English, and that voice most certainly did _not_ belong to Yuri Plisetski. Yuuri turned, staring at Viktor Nikiforov as he stood grinning in the doorway.

“You don't have to call me that,” Minako said, looking amused nonetheless. “Just the little one.”

“I wouldn't let him catch you calling him that,” Viktor chuckled.

Minako just shrugged, her smile never faltering.

“Ah, Yuuri!” Viktor beamed. “There you are! I've been looking for you – what did you do to your poor student on your first day together?”

“Huh?” Yuuri blinked at him. “What did I...do to him?”

“He's in an even worse mood than usual, if you can believe it.” Viktor hardly looked worried. In fact, he looked downright entertained by the whole thing. “Said you made him do a hundred triple lutzes?”

Yuuri sighed and hid behind his water bottle. “I knew that was a dumb idea...” he groaned. “I didn't make him do a hundred. It was just...it was just something to try and keep everything in perspective for him. To try to keep his eagerness from getting the best of him. It...it worked before...”

“I'm not questioning your abilities,” Viktor said, and even though he was still smiling, his tone was serious. “I figured he was blowing the whole thing out of proportion anyway. Still...a hundred lutzes...” Now he sounded almost playful, and Yuuri couldn't decide if that was better or worse.

He sighed, sitting by the bar and studying the label on his water bottle instead of looking up at anyone else. “I had another student...my first. She couldn't land her double axel, no matter how hard she tried. It was distracting her, and she was getting so frustrated...so I told her to do a hundred single axels, forget about the double. And by the time she'd landed a hundred single axels, she would be ready to land the double no problem.” He laughed softly. “I kind of just made it up on the spot. I didn't have any idea if it would work...”

Viktor studied him thoughtfully. “Did it?”

“It sure did,” Minako told him. “She landed the first double she tried after that. I've never seen Yuuri so proud.”

“It was luck,” Yuuri chuckled.

“It was confidence,” Minako corrected. “You made her believe that when she landed a hundred singles, she would be ready for the double, so she was. You did a good thing for her.”

“Anyway...I don't know if it will work for Yurio at all. I've only ever had two students before him, and he isn't anything like either of them.”

Viktor laughed to himself. “He isn't like most people.”

“You can say that again,” Minako chortled. “It sounds like training an angry little kitten.”

Yuuri didn't say anything as they laughed themselves into silence again. Instead, he brought the water bottle to his lips one last time, despite the fact that it was already empty. It gave him something to do. “Viktor,” he said softly. “Would you mind if I asked you a...a kind of silly question?”

“About what?” Viktor asked.

“About a Russian word. Yurio said it earlier and I don't know what it means.”

Viktor sighed. “Ah...I hope he didn't curse at you or something. He might have a temper, but a little respect goes a long way-”

“No, no. I don't think it's anything like that. I'm just curious is all. He mentioned his...dedushka? Is that his father?”

Something in Viktor's expression shifted, turning almost solemn. “Grandfather,” he said, his voice suddenly so soft that Yuuri barely heard him. “He...really mentioned him?”

“Only in passing...He told me they watched skating together when he was young. Is...is something wrong?”

“No.” Viktor seemed stiff now. Suddenly, he was the one avoiding Yuuri's eye. “Not wrong. Just...just took me by surprise, that's all. Nothing to worry about.” The smile was back. “Anyway, I came here to see if you'd do me the honor of showing me the hot springs. I've been dying to try them out ever since I got here.”

The hot springs. Yes, of course. Maybe that was all he needed – a long, hot soak to relax his sore muscles and rinse off his sweat.

* * *

 

They passed Yuri's room on the way back to the springs, and Yuuri couldn't help but notice that the door was tightly closed. Music drifted out from inside – something harsh and loud, full of drums and electric guitar. Not to mention plenty of unintelligible screaming. “Does he...always listen to music like that?”

“I wouldn't worry,” Viktor told him with a smile. “When he's _really_ upset, he listens with headphones.”

Yuuri could picture it – Yurio huddled in a corner with a pair of heavy noise-cancelling headphones blasting thrash metal as he stewed in his own teenage angst. It was almost funny, or it would have been, if he wasn't also picturing Yurio throwing darts at a picture of his head on the wall...

“Really.” Viktor's hand was on his shoulder again, and Yuuri couldn't help but stop and shiver a bit, his hand pausing on the door to the hot springs. “He's fine. He's just adjusting. I'm sure he won't ever admit it, but if something were _really_ wrong, he would at the very least tell me.”

“He would?” He didn't mean to sound so surprised, but the thought of Yuri confiding in _anyone_ was...well, odd. At least after what he'd seen. There had to be a softer side to him, but he wondered just how deep a person had to get to find it.

Viktor wasn't offended – he laughed the moment he saw Yuuri's expression. “I know, I know. It's a little hard to believe, and I'm sure he'd deny it. But I've known him a long time, Yuuri. And I...well, let's just say that when you've seen a person at their worse, everything else seems pretty tame by comparison.”

He didn't want to pry, but he couldn't help but ask... “At his...worst?”

Viktor waited until the door to the changing room by the spring had closed before he spoke again: “His parents died when he was very young. That's not a secret. He'd probably tell you himself if you asked. He lived with...ah...relatives afterward. For a while, anyway. He needed somewhere to stay, and I had too much room for myself. And well, I suppose the rest is history.”

Relatives...his grandfather. The pieces were so easy to fit together, and yet Viktor was still being purposefully vague. It was so obvious it was almost painful. “His...grandfather, right?” he asked carefully. Before he could stop himself, he felt the next words tumbling out: “Did something happen to him?”

Viktor didn't look angry or offended by the question, and Yuuri was grateful for how little his expression changed. Of course he couldn't talk about it – it was too personal, too soon. He bowed his head. “I'm sorry...I shouldn't have asked.”

“It's fine.” His voice was just as soft and kind as ever, and by the time Yuuri looked up at him again, he was reaching for Yuuri's hand. “You shouldn't feel bad for asking.” Yuuri stared at his knuckles. How could a person have such beautiful knuckles? “It will take Yuri time to trust you, but he will. And we should build some trust in our own relationship too, don't you think?”

Oh god, his eyes were just as beautiful as his knuckles were...

“After all,” Viktor said, “I'll be here just as long as he will. I'd imagine we'll be getting to know each other quite well over the next few months.”

“Ah...”

“Why don't you join me in the spring? We could talk. I've been dying to get to know you, Yuuri. I want to know what kind of person is training Yura for his senior debut. That's reasonable, don't you think?”

“I...ah...”

“Makkachin loves you,” he laughed. “That's reason enough for me to trust you, but I ought to know a thing or two about you anyway. Like what it was like growing up here in Hasetsu, or if there's someone you're seeing...”

“ _Ah..._ no, no...I'm not that interesting.”

“Of course you are! You're plenty interesting, Yuuri.” When had he gotten so close? “I want to get to know you, when you're feeling up to it. What do you say?”

He was staring. He knew he was, but somehow he couldn't do anything else. How could he, when Viktor was standing so close that he could practically feel his breath as he spoke? Suddenly, he was reeling backwards, toward the door, and Viktor was looking on with a surprised and bemused expression on his face as Yuuri's back pressed against the doorframe.

“Did I do something wrong?” Viktor asked him.

“No!” Yuuri managed a smile. He couldn't do this. He was a coach now, not an enamored, doe-eyed teenager or a dime-a-dozen figure skater desperate to stand out from the crowd in front of his idol. He was past that. “No...I just...just need to...to help Yuuko close up the rink. She has her hands full with the triplets, so I try to lend a hand whenever I can.” He fumbled for the edge of the door and breathed out a sigh when he finally found it. “Enjoy the bath.”

He was sure Viktor must have looked disappointed as he left, but he didn't check to see for sure.

* * *

“So,” Yuuko said with a smirk. “It's really Viktor Nikiforov, huh? _The_ Viktor Nikiforov?”

“Who else would it be?” Yuuri asked with a little laugh. Polishing loaner skates wasn't exciting work, but it was soothing in a strange way. Plus, it was nice to talk to Yuuko alone for once, without the triplets swarming around his feet. He loved the girls, but entertaining three seven-year-olds was no easy task. He didn't know how Yuuko did it every day, even with Takeshi's help...

She was staring at him almost dreamily, with a wide grin on her face and her chin resting on her palms. “I still can't believe it...Is he everything you thought he'd be?”

“I didn't think he would be anything.” He put the latest pair of skates back on the shelf, taking great satisfaction in the way his face reflected in the finish on the blade. “He's here for Yurio, not me.”

“That doesn't mean he isn't _Viktor Nikiforov._ ” She sighed extravagantly as she moved around the counter toward him. “I mean, I know I keep saying it, but...he's _Viktor Niki-_ ”

“I know!” he laughed. “To be honest...I'm still not completely sure he's real.”

“I'm convinced he isn't. I'm still pretty sure I'm dreaming.”

“How do you think I feel? I first saw him skate when I was eleven years old, and now he's soaking in my parents' hot spring.”

“Great. Now I'm picturing him naked. What would my husband say?”

“What would I say about what?”

That booming voice was unmistakably Takeshi, and he was followed by the blue, purple, and pink blurs that were Axel, Lutz, and Loop Nishigori. All three of them swarmed Yuuri in seconds, barely giving him time to brace himself.

“Is Viktor really in Hasetsu?” Axel demanded.

“Is he really staying at your parents' inn?” Lutz added.

“Do you think you can convince him to start skating again?” Loop insisted.

All Yuuri could do was laugh as Yuuko tried and failed to reign them in. “Give him some room to breathe, you three. You don't need to overwhelm him with all your questions.”

“It's okay, it's okay,” Yuuri chuckled as he patted Axel on the head. “I'm not overwhelmed. Honestly, these three are way less of a handful than that Yuri Plisetski – I think I can handle them.”

“Ooh, the Russian Fairy!” Lutz said. “I heard he's even better than Viktor.”

“ _Nobody_ is better than Viktor,” Axel corrected her.

“I have to agree with her,” said Takeshi as he scooped the little girl up into his arms. “But who knows? Maybe that little Russian kid will surprise us. That is if he doesn't eat poor Yuuri alive first!” His laughter echoed through the empty stockroom. “I heard he gave you a run for your money today.”

Yuuri did his best not to make it obvious that he was trying to hide behind the skate in his hand. “Did Minako tell you that?”

“Don't tease him,” Yuuko chided. She nudged her husband in the arm, just hard enough to make him wobble a bit. “He can hold his own against anyone, even that little Russian boy.” She glanced back at Yuuri, a furrow forming in her brow as she pressed a finger to her chin. “Although...he did seem like kind of a handful.”

Yuuri focused on his polishing. At least the onslaught of questions about Viktor had stopped for the moment. It was a welcome respite, even if it did mean he had to be careful of stepping on Lutz's and Loop's toes as he got up to put the last of the skates back on the shelf. “He's young,” he finally said. “But he's good, and we have plenty of time to choreograph a great program for him.”

God, he sounded like he was giving a parent-teacher conference, but Yuuko beamed at him anyway. “That's the spirit, Yuuri!” she cheered. “Come on, I'll make you a cup of tea for helping me with the skates.”

He smiled just as he felt a tug on his pant leg, and he looked down and found Lutz staring up at him. “Hey,” she said. “You think you can get me Viktor's autograph.”

“And Yuri's!” Axel called over her father's shoulder. “You're his coach – he'd have to do it if you asked!”

“I'll try,” he promised with a fond little laugh. Though autographs were hardly high on his list of priorities for the coming days.

The top spot was reserved for somehow gaining Yuri's trust, and he knew painfully well that it would be no easy feat.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moved to a new city, started a new job, and got a new cat, so I apologize for the wait. :P 
> 
> Some Yurio POV this time. Hope nobody has a problem with profanity because this angry child is full of it.

One hundred _fucking_ triple lutzes.

It was the stupidest thing he'd ever heard. Doing a hundred triples – hell, doing a _thousand_ triples – wouldn't do shit to help him land the quad. Katsuki was out of his mind if he thought it would. He had no right being a damn coach at all if he was giving out idiotic advice like that to his students.

Yuri huffed and landed another triple lutz. That made twenty.

He'd almost decided to ignore it altogether, to spend his time doing something a little more on his level instead of wasting it stuck on jumps like the triple lutz. But dammit, he wasn't about to give up halfway through. If Katsuki wanted a hundred damn triple lutzes, he would do a hundred perfect triples and go to him with bleeding feet and worn down blades and tell him just what he could do with all one hundred goddamn triple-

He slammed down on the ice, knocking the wind and anger straight out of him for a moment until his momentum gave out and he could push himself up again. Okay...so he was still sitting at twenty triples. His coach had never said anything about landing all one hundred in a row anyway. The next eighty would be perfect.

“Oh!” That was a new voice. Not Katsuki (thank God). Not Viktor (thank God x 1000). Not Mari or Minako. Whoever it was, they were interrupting his practice, and he squared his shoulders and turned to give them a piece of his mind, but the woman standing by the edge of the rink was grinning so widely that he couldn't quite remember any of the creative ways he'd been planning on telling her to get lost.

Instead, he just stood there in the middle of the ice, feeling less like a skater and more like a sideshow act as eight little pairs of eyes all bored straight into his soul. “Yuri Plisetski!” the woman said, smiling as the children huddled around her kept gawking at him.

At least she got his name right. Better than helping that godawful nickname stick even more. “ _Da._ And?”

“It's perfect! Your timing couldn't be better!” She kept right on beaming as she turned to the kids and spoke to them in Japanese too soft for him to understand even if he did speak the language. A couple of the children went to the benches and started to lace their skates, but the rest just kept right on staring, like he was some kind of rare zoo animal.

He took a few tentative steps back on the ice. “What are they looking at?”

“Sorry,” she laughed. “I'm Yuuko...old friend of Yuuri's. I run the rink. So technically, while you're on this ice, I'm the boss of you when Yuuri isn't here.”

She winked. Still, he couldn't quite tell if she was joking or not. “That didn't answer my question,” he said plainly. The children were finally starting to focus on their skates instead of on him, with some gentle prodding from Yuuko.

“Kids stare,” she said with a shrug. “They're probably just starstruck. Not everyday we have the junior world champion in our rink, you know!”

“Are they all yours?”

Yuuko blinked at him, then doubled over, cackling as she held onto the barrier for support. “ _God_ no! All mine...I'd keel over in a day!” She wiped away a tear as she straightened up again. “No...no, they're my beginner skating class. So it's perfect you're here, and all warmed up and everything too! I promised them the chance to see a champion in action, but I didn't think I'd get the chance to come through for them so soon!”

He didn't like where this was going. Not one bit. “In...action?” He'd barely manage to get the words out as the little ones started to file onto the ice, and he was suddenly painfully aware of the fact that he was outnumbered. “What, all of them?”

“You don't have stage fright do you?” Yuuko chuckled as she slid onto the ice herself.

“Hell no! Just...what do you expect me to show them?”

“You don't have to teach them anything! Just...show off a little. It'd probably get them motivated, and between you and me, that would make it a lot easier to keep their attention for the next half hour...” She held her hands together, like she was saying a prayer as she broke out the puppy dog eyes. “I promise to put in a good word with your new coach.”

“I don't need anyone to-”

Someone tugged on his sweatpants, and he barely noticed Yuuko covering up a giggle as he looked over – and a moment later, _down –_ at the culprit. Two big brown eyes stared at him, widening when he met them with his own like their owner was suddenly realizing he was real.

“You want something?” he asked dryly.

She didn't say anything, just let her mouth fall open as she gazed up at him with stars in her eyes. Her fingers finally loosened. “She's big fan of yours,” Yuuko told him, smiling warmly as she put a hand on the girl's shoulder. She knelt down low, exchanging hushed Japanese with the little girl. “She'd love to see your quadruple lutz.”

Of course she would, he thought, and he almost laughed in her face. He managed to keep it locked behind his teeth, luckily enough. Thank God. He didn't need a whole group of little kids thinking he was completely crazy. “Fine,” he said instead, rolling his shoulders. If there was any truth in what Katsuki had told him – even if it was a tiny, ridiculous grain of truth – after twenty triples, it would be even easier to land a quad.

Yuuko lined the children up by the barrier, each and every one of them looking positively giddy as they watched him skate a slow circle around the rink. Even if it was a bunch of little kids, it felt nice to have an audience again, and an easy one to impress, too.

There was close to a decade separating him from his first clumsy steps onto the ice, but it was still so easy to go back to those early years – watching older skaters glide effortlessly over the ice, jumping and twirling like it was as easy as breathing. It had felt like he was looking into a completely different world that he would never be able to reach. But now he didn't even need to think about keeping his balance or holding his weight centered as he built momentum. It came more naturally to him than he'd ever thought it would when he'd wobbled onto his first rink.

He couldn't help but feel pride well up in his chest as the children gasped watching him press his toepick into the ice and vault into the air. It was almost effortless for him to get in three rotations and land his twenty-first perfect triple lutz.

A triple. Yuuko had asked for a quad, but she cheered alongside her students all the same.

“Just a warmup,” he called, shrugging off the feeling of foolishness that had settled in his gut. She'd asked for a quad, and he could deliver a quad. Sure, he'd only landed it about half the time in practice, but the odds had to be more in favor now.

The edge of his blade left the ice again, and his audience cheered as he spun once, twice, three times, four-

His shoulder met the ice again before his skate, his ears ringing as the back of his head slammed down onto the hard, cold surface under him. Tears sprang to his eyes, blurring his vision as he stared up at the fluorescent lights. A second later – a face. Followed by about eight more, and what sounded like countless voices speaking in frantic Japanese with one breaking through in English: “You hit your head...”

He could feel Yuuko slipping something soft under his head, between his hair and the ice. Looked like her jacket, judging by her bare shoulders. All he could think to say was, “No shit.”

That fucking quad...a fifty-fifty chance, and he'd wound up on the wrong side of the flip of a coin. He sat up, ignoring Yuuko insisting he take it slow as he pushed himself onto his wobbly legs. The back of his head was throbbing, but he wiped away the tears that had gathered in his eyes with a huff and skated toward the barrier.

All he had to do was impress a few little kids, and he couldn't even manage that. He just hoped to God that Katsuki didn't find out.

He had to give Yuuko some credit – she drew in those kids' attention like a pro so that he could escape to the locker room, and he spent longer than he had to doing his cooldown stretches and trying not to imagine all those damn little eyes watching him slam down on the ice. He had his forehead pressed against his knee, relishing the deep burn in his calf when he heard Yuuko's voice again: “I won't tell your coach you know.”

“This is the men's locker room,” Yuri muttered into the crook of his knee.

“Again...I run the rink. I can go _anywhere._ ”

He swore he could _hear_ her grinning, and he finally straightened up to look at her. “What do you mean you won't tell my coach?”

“The quad thing? He told me.” She shrugged, and without waiting for him to say anything else, she sat down on the bench next to him and held out an ice pack. “Please don't have a concussion...”

“I'd _know_ if I had a concussion,” Yuri scoffed. He took the ice pack and held it to the back of his head. “I've had one before. I know what it feels like. This is nothing.”

“So you're not just being a stereotypical stoic Russian?”

“ _Nyet,_ " he told her. Yuuko laughed, clear and gentle, and he had to admit it was a nice sound. Even made him smile a bit, despite the fact that he couldn't quite look her in the eye yet. “If you knew about that stupid plan of his, why did you ask me to do a quad?”

She shrugged, twirling a strand of auburn hair between her fingers. “I figured my students would love it. And I thought you'd like the chance to show off too.”

“Show off...” He sighed and let the ice pack drop into his lap. “I looked like an idiot.”

A knowing little smile spread across Yuuko's face as she reached for the ice pack and pressed it into his palm again. She raised his hand to the pack of his head, pushing it against the bruise that he could already feel forming on his scalp. “I like to call it a 'teachable moment.'” Yuri kept the ice pack where it was when she pulled her hand away and stood. “And like I said, I won't tell Yuuri...on one condition.”

“What's that?” He watched her dubiously as she reached into her jacket pocket. She pulled out a pen and notepad with a flourish and grinned at him.

“One autograph!” she sang. “Well...three, actually. One for each of my girls.”

He snorted. “Autographs? That's what you want?”

“Please? It'll help me stay on their good side when they find out we didn't get them a Nintendo Switch for their birthday. Those things are impossible to find...” She held the pen and paper out to him, and he finally sighed and took them both. The whole autograph thing wasn't new to him – he'd gotten better at it since winning his first Junior Championship, but it had never felt natural. Not like it seemed to be for Viktor anyway. That guy could charm the pants off any fan he wanted with a wink and a flick of his wrist. He prayed he'd never be so ridiculous himself.

Three messily scrawled signatures later, Yuuko was beaming and Yuri's head had finally started to throb a little less angrily. He pulled the ice pack away and glanced down at it – no blood. That was a good sign at least. Probably wouldn't even put a dent in his training regimen.

Yuuko laughed as she folded the papers into her jacket pocket. “Axel, Lutz and Loop are going to be so happy!”

“You can't be serious. _You_ have three kids?”

“I'm going to take that as a compliment.”

“You named them _Axel, Lutz,_ and _Loop?_ ”

“Well, that's not on their birth certificates...but they kicked me enough while I was pregnant.”

Yuri laughed hard enough to drop the ice pack right on the floor. It surprised him about as much as it seemed to surprise Yuuko, and by the time he'd gone quiet again his head had almost stopped hurting.

At least for the next few minutes or so. By the time he made it back to his room at the inn, it was stinging again like a _bitch._

* * *

Yuri had to give this place credit for one thing – there was no bath in the world that could compare to a real hot spring. Sinking into the steaming hot water after a long day on the ice was damn near _heaven._ It was a wonder anyone got anything done around here when this was always waiting for them whenever they wanted. He could have easily stayed in there until he cooked if it wasn't for his stomach growling insistently under the water.

That was another thing, the food. Katsuki's mother was one damn good cook, even if he couldn't pronounce half the things she made. Viktor made an effort, but it only made him look like an idiot, stumbling over complicated Japanese syllables.

“Mari says you should stick to Russian,” Yuuri chuckled as his sister cackled next to him, and Viktor pouted ridiculously around a mouthful of tofu.

“ _Da,_ ” Yuri sighed. “ _Govorit' po-russki,_ Viktor.”

Viktor nudged him with one elbow, that damn smile of his never faltering as he leaned in close enough for Yuri to smell the spice on his breath. “Don't be rude, Yura. We should at least try to speak the language while we're here.”

He couldn't get Viktor out of his personal space fast enough, rolling his eyes as he did. “You can try all you want, idiot. I know how to say please and thank you and ask for the bathroom, and that's good enough for me.”

Mari looked at him pointedly, shoulders quivering as she held back a laugh long enough to get the words out: “But your accent...” She scoffed. “Awful!”

“It could use work,” Viktor giggled.

“Like yours is any better, old man.”

Yuuri was smiling at him, looking content with himself from the other side of the table. “Yurio...” That damn nickname again. “I talked to Yuuko earlier. She said you demonstrated a few jumps for her students.”

Oh god, why did he suddenly feel like a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar? Yuuko had told him she wouldn't say anything about that quad. She'd promised. She'd _promised_ him to his face-

But Yuuri didn't look angry. Or disappointed. He looked almost sheepish. “Sorry,” he said. “I guess I should have warned you she might rope you into that...”

“Our Yura teaching little ones about skating?” Viktor crooned. “And I missed it?”

Yuri managed to find his voice again: “I didn't _teach_ them anything. Just...showed them my triple lutz. That's all.” It wasn't exactly a lie. Not completely anyway. “Signed a couple autographs for her kids.”

Viktor beamed. “And signing autographs too!”

“I sign autographs all the time!” He had to shove Viktor and his nasty breath away again. What the hell was _in_ this tofu anyway that tasted so good and smelled so _gross?_ “And why wouldn't I? She was cool. Cooler than you at least.”

Viktor, drama queen that he was, pressed a hand against his chest like he was about to keel over from a damn heart attack. “Yura, you wound me...”

Mari leaned in close to Yuuri, asking something in Japanese as she smirked. He answered her with something that made her nod and smile wider before looking up at Yuri again. “She wants to know if you met the triplets. Axel, Lutz, and-”

“Loop?” Yuri scoffed. “Still don't believe those are their names...” He shrugged. “I met a lot of little kids.”

“You'd know the triplets,” Yuuri told him. “They were pretty excited to meet you, actually.”

“And _Viktor!_ ” Mari chimed.

Yuri shoved a big bite of that delicious tofu into his mouth and fought against the urge to roll his eyes. “Of course,” he groaned as Viktor positively glowed next to him.

Fucking gross.

* * *

The next morning, Yuri's legs were aching and his had stung just enough for him to notice, but he made it to the rink while the sky was still a warm pink-orange. The rink was dim and quiet – no little kids waiting for another demonstration, thank God. He wouldn't have to worry about falling on his ass – or head – in front of all those wide little eyes. And no more autographs to sign.

Though that hadn't been the worst part of his day, signing his name for a fan. Or three fans.

All he had to do was concentrate on all those damn triple lutzes and keeping his Beillmann nice and straight so that he could make damn sure it stayed in his free skate. Maybe he couldn't land a quad lutz more than half the time, but he had flexibility to spare, and if this was going to be his last season before his body went and took that away, he was going to make damn sure to take advantage of it while he could.

He made it through the doors just in time to hear rushed Japanese exchanged in the back room. Those voices were familiar, even if the words weren't; Yuuko sounded drained, almost apologetic, and Yuuri...he couldn't read much of anything from his coach's voice. He'd gone quiet, even while Yuuko kept talking, like he was distracted by something else.

It was easy to see what it was when Yuri headed through the door, both of them looking up at him. Yuuri had a phone in his hand, his brow furrowed and his mouth hanging open. And they weren't alone – three little heads poked out from behind Yuuko, all staring at him like he was a damn unicorn.

“Yuri!” Yuuko gasped. “I'm so sorry! I had no idea they were even here yesterday, and Axel isn't supposed to take the iPad out of the house-” She shot a poignant look back at the little girl in purple, who answered with a pout. “I've told them more times than I can remember not to use my account without my permission.”

“What account?” he asked her, but he was already starting to get a nasty feeling that he wasn't going to like where she was going. He looked over at Yuuri – after all, his coach was supposed to be the one who handled any drama that came their way. He certainly shouldn't have looked as lost as he did as he stared at that damn phone.

Screw it – if Katsuki was going to just stand there like a confused puppy, Yuri would have to see for himself just what had happened. He crossed the space between them in three strides as wide as he could manage and snatched the phone away.

The YouTube video on the screen finished out the last few seconds of its runtime, and Yuri only caught a few shaky frames of someone's feet in the bleachers before he rewound it. The title of the video didn't help much – it was all in Japanese characters that Yuri couldn't understand to save his life, but a few familiar letters caught his eye in a second:

_Yuri Plisetski_

And come to think of it, the rink in the first shot of the video before it began to play again looked awfully familiar, despite the shoddy camera work. Finally, it came into focus, and yeah, that was definitely _him_ skating a wide lap around the ice.

He watched himself land a triple lutz, heard someone – several someones, actually, who sounded about as young as the group of kids on the ice – squeal with glee and titter in Japanese off screen.

It shouldn't have made him nervous. There was nothing incriminating or career-damaging about a video of him training. Maybe it would spark rumors about why he'd suddenly changed coaches and moved all the way to Japan for the off-season, but those were already flying around everywhere on the internet with his senior debut coming up. He didn't bother paying attention to any of it, since it was mostly garbage anyway. A video like this surfacing would do nothing but send his fans into a frenzy wanting to know all the details about his programs, which was easy enough to ignore.

He shouldn't have been upset. He shouldn't have _cared,_ but as he watched himself stumble and crash out of that quadruple lutz and slam down on the ice, his head stung and his stomach clenched. He gritted his teeth as he looked up again. “What the fuck?”

“They must have gotten curious about your practice,” Yuuri said, softly, almost like he was talking to himself more than to him. “The triplets...they wanted to see how you skated.”

“So they put up a video of me falling on my ass for the whole damn world to see?” Yuri huffed. “And you...I guess you're just going to tell me I shouldn't have been doing quads in the first place?”

“No – no, I...I just...” He watched as Yuuri took a steadying breath that seemed to force its way out too quickly. “You were practicing alone...”

“I'm not supposed to skate without you around to hold my hand now?”

“Why didn't you tell me you hurt yourself?”

“I _didn't._ ”

“You hit your head-”

“I'm _fine._ ” He shoved the phone back into Yuuri's hands. “Quit worrying over me already. You're worse than Viktor. Besides, I only fell because I fucked up that damn quad, because instead of trying to get as many jumps ready for competition as I can, _you-_ ” He jabbed a finger against Yuuri's chest. _“-_ have me practicing ridiculous triples that I've had figured out since I was competing in Juniors!”

He could see Yuuri swallowing, eyes flickering between the finger pressed against his sternum and Yuri's eyes boring into his. “I was trying to keep things in perspective,” he said, voice tense. Jesus, what had he gotten himself into?

Since when had Yuuri Katsuki gotten so _weak?_

“Forget it,” Yuri scoffed. Luckily he had his headphones in his bag so it would be easy to drown out any other ridiculous pieces of wisdom his new coach had yet to dole out. “I have to warm up. Since my competition probably thinks I'm a complete pushover now, I'll just have to train twice as hard to prove them wrong.”

He pulled on his headphones, turned his music up as loud as he could stand, and sank down onto the floor to stretch until the burn in his muscles kept his mind off of everything else.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience - I haven't been in the best place when it comes to how I feel about my own writing, so my motivation has been low. But I was struck by a burst of inspiration tonight and sat down and wrote this is more or less one sitting...so I hope you enjoy. :)

Yuri had never been a morning person, but in all the years Viktor had known him, he'd never slept in past seven – not unless he was sick or resting up after a competition. Nearly all the times he'd turned his alarm off, there had been a medal sitting on his bedside table.

That didn't mean he made it look easy. Viktor doubted there were many fifteen-year-olds who _enjoyed_ waking up at the crack of dawn, but routine could make anything tolerable, more or less. Even if it was a constant battle between Yuri's hormones demanding more sleep and his competitive drive pushing him out of bed and into his running shoes, Yuri was more than capable of keeping motivation on his side. So Viktor knew where to find him, every morning as the sun peeked over the horizon and glinted off the dew that had gathered on steps in front of the inn. Yuri barely seemed to notice him as he stretched out his quads in what looked like a lazy half-Biellmann. “Your new coach has you up bright and early,” Viktor chimed anyway.

“Katsudon has nothing to do with it.” Yuri put his foot down again and switched to the other, eyes never leaving the horizon.

“Is that what you're calling him now.”

“Sorry – Katsudon- _sensei._ ” The honorific seemed to carry anything _but_ respect coming from Yuri's lips, and his eyes finally flashed toward Viktor – down towards his shoes and over at Makkachin's leash clutched in his hand. “Let me guess...you want to come running with me.”

Viktor grinned as Makkachin's tail thumped excitedly against his calf. “I don't want him getting tubby from all the scraps people keep slipping him at dinner.”

Yuri scoffed. “Half of those are yours.”

“How can I resist that face?” he cooed. He could practically feel Yuri roll his eyes as Makkachin licked the tip of his nose before he straightened up again. “Besides, I figured we could talk. I want to know all the details about how you're getting along with Yuuri.”

Yuri was already turning away from him, facing the steps and bending into a deep lunge. “He keeps having me do triples.”

“Triples are important.”

“Won't let me do any quads. He's just as bad as Yakov.”

“You're working up to them.”

“I don't have time to work up to anything – I have five months to get my routine ready if I want to qualify for the Grand Prix.” He stood up straight again, arms following the rest of his body and pulling a hair tie off his wrist in one fluid motion. It found its way into his hair, pulling it back into a messy ponytail as he stared straight ahead. Viktor watched his fingers work, his hands resting at his sides again as he finally turned to face him fully. His eyes were shining, determination alive and well behind his irises. “Why the hell are we here?”

“Yuuri's terms were pretty clear,” Viktor said steadily, a hint of a smile staying right where it was on the corners of his mouth. “He wanted to train you here. That was the deal.”

“I don't mean why are we in Japan. I mean why is he training me at all? He barely knows what he's doing.” Yuri sighed as he leaned against the railing, glancing down at Makkachin when the dog came sniffing at his ankles. It only took him a few seconds to give in and scratch behind Makkachin's ear. “He doesn't seem like any coach I've ever met. And not in a good way either. He's trying too hard.”

“Were you expecting him not to try at all?” Viktor laughed. “That would be an awfully big waste of time.”

“ _No._ I just...I don't get him. I don't get why he's coaching me. I don't get why he's coaching at _all._ ” He stopped petting Makkachin abruptly, arms folding tightly in front of him instead. “Why the hell did we fly all the way here so I could train with some washed up skater who hasn't even been coaching as long as I've been skating, huh? What's the big master plan?”

Viktor's eyebrow arched. “You think we're all conspiring against you or something?”

“I want to win gold,” Yuri insisted, as if that had been some big secret he'd been keeping from the world. “Sue me if I don't think Yuuri Katsuki is gonna get me there.” He turned to head down the steps, but Viktor put a hand on his shoulder. Yuri stopped before his feet hit the dirt, and the silence stretched between them until he finally looked back again.

Viktor held his gaze. “You should treat him with more respect, Yuri.” he said. His voice was level, his grip on Yuri's shoulder firm.

Surprise flitted across Yuri's eyes for half a second, just noticeable enough to let Viktor know he'd been listening. He smiled again, pulling his hand from Yuri's shoulder. “Come on – we can run down along the beach. Ocean breeze is so refreshing in the morning, and the sand will give us a little challenge.”

"Yeah, sure. If you can keep up."

Yuri pulled ahead of him quickly, putting some distance between the two of them from the start, and Viktor was fine with that. With Makkachin at his heels and the ocean breeze blowing through his hair, he concentrated on his own breath as he followed Yuri down along the coastline. Eventually, the gap began to close, and whether it was because Yuri was slowing or because Viktor was hitting his stride, he wasn't sure, but soon they were running side by side through the sand.

Yuri wasn't a talker when he ran. When he focused, everything else melted away, not unlike when he put those headphones over his ears to drown out the rest of the world. So it surprised Viktor when he spoke up between breaths: “You haven't asked...about that damn video.”

Viktor ran a few beats without answering before he steadied his breathing and asked, “Are you upset about it?”

“I'm not _upset,_ ” Yuri scoffed. “I'm not anything. It's just a stupid video.” They listened to the sound of their feet on the sand for a few paces. “I learned how to fall when I first started skating.”

He wasn't particularly worried about the fall itself. The million plus people that had watched the video, though...that was more intimidating. Not career-ending by a long-shot, but hardly something that would put a person's mind at ease on the cusp of making their senior debut. He would have been more worried if Yuri _wasn't_ bothered - which he was, as determined as he seemed to hide it. But there wasn't much point in dragging that out of him if he wasn't ready to let him. Instead he said, “Why were you trying to land a quad lutz?”

“I won't win gold with triples,” Yuri said.

“You're awfully preoccupied with that gold medal.”

Yuri slowed, then stopped, and Viktor found himself stumbling past him as Yuri planted his hands on his hips. “It's not the _medal_ I want,” he said. “I just want to win.”

Most people wouldn't have understood. Most people would have insisted there was no difference, that the highest spot on the podium came with a gold medal and vice versa. And maybe that was true, but Viktor wasn't most people, and when Yuri turned toward the waves to hide the instantaneous flash of emotion that burned out as quickly as it had showed, he knew what the difference was.

“It's just a Youtube video,” Viktor said, stepping toward him. “Half the people who watched it did because they wanted to see you fall, but the other half did because they wanted to see if you'd get up again.”

“Or maybe people just like watching figure skaters fall on their asses,” Yuri sighed. “Geez, you're dramatic.”

“It's a flash in the pan is what I mean.” Makkachin sat dutifully at his feet as he stopped in front of Yuri. “And for what it's worth, I didn't even attempt the quad lutz until I was sixteen. So if you're falling on your ass, you're already ahead of me.”

Yuri looked up at him, sighing heavily. “I wanna go back. I have to meet Minako-sensei at the dance studio in an hour and I want to eat breakfast first.”

Maybe that was for the best. So they made their way back, their socks coated in sand and their hair hopelessly windblown, and Viktor quietly yearned for the days when he could push it back into a tight ponytail and spare it the abuse.

As they left their shoes at the entrance, Yuri spoke up again, breathless and sounding like the run had managed to work out some of his frustration, at least: “Do you know why he left?” he asked. “Katsuki. Do you know why he stopped skating?”

Viktor looked back at him, wiping his brow and unclipping Makkachin from the leash. “You could just ask him.”

“He wouldn't tell me if I did,” Yuri insisted immediately. “I know he wouldn't. If you don't know, just tell me. And if you know but want to keep it some big dramatic secret, then you better tell me that too. It'll save my time if I know not to bother.”

Might as well be honest, he figured. “I don't know.”

“Would you tell me if you did?”

Might as well _keep_ being honest. “Probably not,” he said with a smile.

He didn't need to _feel_ Yuri's eyes roll this time. He saw it plain as day. “Take a shower, Viktor,” he said, pushing past him and letting his hair fall over his shoulders again. “You smell like a wet dog.”

* * *

Minako was as intense as she had seemed – at least within the walls of the dance studio. She pushed Yuri hard, until he was out of breath and red in the face and sweating through his clothes. But Viktor never heard a single complaint out of Yuri's mouth about her, so it seemed like she'd won his respect early on.

Yuuri Katsuki, however, was a different story.

Yuri's new coach was a quiet enigma – he kept to himself, didn't say much that wasn't necessary, and carried himself like he expected people to look over him. Like he was only getting used to people noticing him at all and still didn't know how to respond when they did. 

Odd, considering that he'd been one of the most prominent Japanese figure skaters just a few years before. Maybe somehow he'd forgotten that, but the trophies and medals that Hiroko and Toshiya had proudly displayed just inside the entrance of the inn would have made it difficult.

Viktor didn't make a habit of watching Yuri train – after all, Yuri definitely would have objected to him sitting in the peanut gallery as a silent observer. But his curiosity got the better of him, and he stepped over the threshold just as Yuri stretched backward in a deep layback spin. His coach watched carefully, sliding past him on the ice as Yuri straightened up again.

“I think we should focus on your combination spins,” Yuuri said. “Not many men can pull those off, especially not in the senior division. You can use that to your advantage.”

“Minako-sensei said the same thing,” Yuri told him. “At least five times.”

Yuuri laughed softly. “She was a ballerina. She values flexibility...You were able to do a Biellmann back in Russia. Do you think you'd be able to do that in competition?”

“Now, sure,” Yuri said, but there was something else in his voice – some trepidation just under the surface. Viktor heard it clearly enough, but from the way Yuuri's brow pinched, he wasn't the only one.

“You don't think you can pull it off?”

Yuri didn't answer right away, instead skating to the barrier and taking a long draw off his water bottle. “Mila liked to call me a 'late bloomer.' Tch...I always hated that...”

“A late bloomer?”

He could have sworn that was a blush spreading across Yuri's face, but he didn't get a good look before Yuri had his back to him again, leaning back on the barrier. “Sure, I can do a Biellman _now._ What happens when I can't anymore?”

It was a good point – judging from Yuri's ravenous appetite that seemed to surpass even his intense training, he was due a good growth spurt in the near future. And with growth spurts came longer limbs, thicker muscle, less flexibility.

Puberty could really throw a wrench into things.

Yuuri, to his credit, didn't miss a beat. “We can always cross that bridge when we come to it. Next year, maybe you'll have to change how you plan your routines. Now, though...you might as well use it.”

Yuri opened his mouth, and for half a moment, Viktor waited for a sarcastic, biting response, for him to insist that a few Biellmans and layback spins wouldn't get him to the Grand Prix Finals or the podium, no matter how impressive they might be. But he could almost see the gears turning, Yuri replaying his words from earlier.

_You should treat him with more respect, Yuri._

“Yeah...” Yuri conceded. “Okay, Katsudon.”

Still using the nickname...but small steps were better than nothing.

Yuuri blinked, seeming surprised for half a second before he relaxed again. Like he'd been bracing for the same thing Viktor had been expecting and was letting all that pressure go. He smiled, reached up the adjust his glasses on the bridge of his nose, and said, “We'll work more on that tomorrow. For now, go get some rest. You've earned it.”

Yuuri had a beautiful smile – warm and genuine. Viktor could see that even from across the rink.

Yuri gathered his things and headed for the locker room, but Viktor's eyes were still trained on his coach. Yuuri lingered on the ice as Yuri left, watching the younger skater go before taking a deep breath in...holding it a moment...letting it out slowly. Suddenly Viktor got the feeling that he was intruding on something private. Yuuri hadn't seemed to notice him at all.

He expected Yuuri to leave – maybe he could congratulate him on managing to get Yuri to listen to a good piece of advice without a fight. But Yuuri didn't move to leave the ice. Instead, he gingerly removed his glasses, left them on the barrier, and started to skate a slow lap around the perimeter, gaze soft and hair blowing back off of his face with own momentum.

Viktor straightened, watching as Yuuri built up speed, shoulders squaring and core tightening. He moved with more purpose, slicking his hair back with one hand and furrowing his brow in concentration. He stretched one leg back behind him, and Viktor tensed, sucking in a breath like his body was preparing for something that it knew was coming, even if he had no idea himself.

And then Yuuri brought his back leg forward again, jammed his toe pick into the ice, and took off into the air.

Viktor caught three spins that seemed to move in slow-motion, Yuuri's hair swirling behind his head like a dark flame, his arms pressed in against his chest, ankles crossed neatly as the light glinted off his blades. It seemed to take an eternity for him to come back down to earth again, landing neatly and completing a nearly perfect toe loop.

He rotated around again, and he was smiling as he did, eyes sparkling lips stretching gleefully back over his teeth. Yuuri looked as excited as a novice who had just landed their first jump, coming down off the high of exhilaration that came with realizing it was possible to fight gravity, if only for a few short seconds. He glided over the ice, and Viktor couldn't pry his eyes away. His ears were full of the sound of sharpened blades sliding over marble-smooth ice as Yuuri straightened up, extending his arms out to the sides. He may as well have been flying – there didn't seem to be anything connecting him to the ground beneath his feet.

There was no music, but Yuuri danced across the ice. His feet moved with expert precision, crossing, turning, spinning, cutting intricate, invisible patterns on the frozen surface as he moved. Viktor's heart pounded as those skates left the ice again, launching Yuuri into the air to complete two spins before landing a double salchow.

This one was messy, and Yuuri wobbled a bit as he landed, but he recovered easily, even letting out what seemed like a soft laugh. Maybe Viktor had imagined that – after all, any sound other than the cut of his blades against the ice got lost in the wide space between them.

Yuuri slowed again, the imaginary music seeming to fade as he skated a lazy lap around the rink. He seemed almost serene, lost in his own little world. Viktor couldn't help himself – he brought his hands up and gave Yuuri a well-deserved round of applause.

It seemed to do little else other than break his spell, though, and Yuuri let out an undignified little yelp before falling backwards onto his rear on the ice. His head whipped around dizzyingly fast as Viktor stepped up to the edge of the rink. “V-Viktor?”

“Sorry,” Viktor laughed. “I didn't mean to scare you.”

“How long have you been there?”

“I wasn't spying.”

“I didn't say you were!” Yuuri sputtered. “I just...did you...”

“You were beautiful.”

The words hung in the air between them. Finally, Yuuri scrambled to his feet, face red and his hair quickly breaking free from his ponytail. “I-I...I haven't done that salchow in a long time...”

“I mean it,” Viktor said again, because the compliment needed to be heard without getting lost in excuses. “You were beautiful. _That_ was beautiful. How long has it been since you skated like that?”

Yuuri scratched the back of his neck, then made a show of fixing his ponytail. “In front of anyone else? Not since my last competition...”

Viktor swore he felt his heart break, just a little. “That's a tragedy,” he said.

“It's just the truth,” Yuuri replied quietly. “I...I'm sorry – you probably came here for Yurio, not to watch me.”

But Viktor's curiosity was still burning hot, and he couldn't let it go unsatisfied yet. “Did you choreograph that?” he asked.

Yuuri's gaze popped up toward him again, lips parting in surprise. “Choreograph it?”

“The step sequence – that couldn't have been improvised, not as intricate as it was.”

“Oh...” That blush was creeping over his cheeks again. “I...did. A long time ago. It was supposed to be a routine for my first student, but I got a bit carried away. It was a bit too...advanced for her. Probably for the best anyway...I could never figure out how to finish it. There was always something missing.”

He sighed, and a flash of regret flitted across his eyes. It wasn't the first time Viktor had seen it, but set against the memory of Yuuri dancing and flying so effortlessly across the ice, it seemed heavier somehow. It made something ache in his chest. “Yuuri,” he said gently, and Yuuri looked up again.

Somewhere along the way, Yuuri had slid up to the edge of the ice, just a few feet away from Viktor, but still well out of arms' reach without skates of his own.

“Why did you drop out of competition?” Viktor asked him.

Yuuri looked down at his skates again. “It was...just time.”

“I want to understand. I ought to understand, don't you think? If you're coaching Yura, it's not a good idea for you to keep secrets.”

“I wouldn't keep anything a secret that I thought would hurt his chances of making it to the finals,” Yuuri insisted, his gaze suddenly intensifying again. “I promised him I would do everything I could to help him win gold, and I plan on keeping that promise.”

Viktor wondered as Yuuri brushed past him where the line had been, and when he'd crossed it.

“It's not an exciting secret anyway,” Yuuri added as he sat down to remove his skates. His tone was a little gentler now, and when he turned to face Viktor again, he was smiling. It was a different smile than the one he'd worn on the ice – not nearly as open and much more controlled. It made Viktor miss the other one. “My time was just...over. But don't worry – Yuri is doing an amazing job. He'll get that medal.”

“I don't doubt that,” Viktor said, but Yuuri was already passing him and heading out the door.

* * *

Makkachin's evening walk stretched on longer than he'd planned. Not that the dog was complaining in the least, considering all the new corners and crevices he got the chance to sniff as they went. But Viktor's mind was caught up in replaying the scene from the rink over and over. That toe loop, that salchow, that effortless, beautiful dancing step sequence...he would have given a gold medal to that alone, if he'd been a judge and had one lying around.

By all rights, Yuuri Katsuki was in his prime. Two years out of competition hadn't dulled his skills, and Viktor supposed that came with the territory of coaching, but it was more than that. Yuuri had put himself on the side-lines, disappeared from competition without a trace, and for what? To perform for an empty rink between someone else's training sessions?

His wandering brain somehow got him back to the inn just as the sun began to set, and as Makkachin dragged himself up the steps and lay down just outside the door, Viktor caught a whiff of cigarette smoke.

“You saw my brother skate today,” Mari said, smoke drifting out from between her lips as she spoke. It wasn't a question, nor an accusation, and Viktor had to stare at her for a moment as he tried to figure out what she wanted him to say.

“I didn't mean to startle him,” he eventually answered. “Certainly didn't mean to make him fall on his ass.”

Mari laughed around another drag on her cigarette. “He didn't tell me that...but sounds true.”

He leaned against the railing next to her. The smell of cigarette smoke wasn't among his favorites, but out in the open air like this, he didn't mind it so much. “It seems like it suits him...being a coach.”

Mari shrugged. “It does,” she said, but she didn't sound entirely convinced. She had to have seen him skate too. Maybe their thoughts weren't all that different from one another.

“You don't think so?”

She didn't answer right away – just shrugged again at first. Finally, she said, “He's a good coach.” One long drag on her cigarette later, she added, “He was a better skater.”

She pressed the tip of the cigarette against the bottom of the ashtray on the railing until it had stopped smoldering and turned to walk inside. “Mari,” he said, before he could stop himself, and she paused. She seemed to be expecting something – maybe she knew what was coming before he asked, “Why did he stop? Why doesn't he skate anymore.”

He was expecting a shrug, but he got a sigh. “You should ask him.”

“I did,” he said. “He didn't tell me. It seemed like a...sore subject.”

There was sadness in her eyes as she frowned. She knelt down and reached out a hand, running it along Makkachin's spine until he flipped over onto his back, and she dutifully rubbed his belly. She was smiling almost enigmatically as she stood up again. “Well,” she said, “If he ever tells you, let me know. I've been wondering a long time too.”

She headed inside, the door to the inn sliding closed behind her as the last whisps of cigarette smoke disappeared into the cool night air.

 


End file.
